#Less fish vibes more snake

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Epilogue: It’s Not Over ‘Til You’re Underground]

A/N: We've finally reached the end of the Oregon Trail, besties!!! Enjoy this one last treat to celebrate the conclusion of Martyrs 🥰

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon™️, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes.

Both the series title and epilogue title are lyrics from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Word count: 4.1k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Autumn is the harvest, ripping up roots, preparing for the starving time of winter, and so you step through the threshold of your new life as the world is ending again.

“I knew the chances,” Sophie says when you tell her what happened; but she can’t look at you, because of course she wishes it was Rio who made it to Odessa instead, and you don’t blame her. She breaks down and leaves the house, and you sit there—silent, sorry, self-loathing—for a long time with Rio’s weeping parents and Aegon’s arm draped across the back of your chair. But then Sophie comes back inside, and through tears she says it’s nice to meet you in person at last, and then she asks if you’d like to hold Rio’s son.

Here it is commonplace to see M16s and AR-15s, marijuana growing in gardens, a myriad of flags flying from homes—Don’t Tread On Me, Trump 2024, American flags, rainbow flags, porcupines of the Libertarian Party—and order is maintained by an elected council of longtime Odessa residents. For anyone to be allowed into the community, somebody already here must take responsibility for them, and so the seven of you—eight, counting Ice—spend the first few months sleeping on Rio’s parents’ living room floor and eating meals out of their cellar, enough self-stable food to last for years. You join the construction crew and help build houses, Cregan cuts down trees and fishes and hunts, Helaena shows Aegon how to garden and Sophie teaches Luke to bake bread. There are no doctors here, but there are several unlicensed midwives and a veterinarian named Ian Whitted. Rhaena studies under him—attending every appointment and taking copious notes in the spider notebook Helaena gifts her, sharing what she learned from Aemond—and before long her sutures are quicker and cleaner than Ian’s. Daeron, considered too young and inexperienced for the most dangerous work, is posted with his compound bow inside the village to serve as a guard. He resents this until he realizes there are far more women to flirt with here than out in the forest where wolves and bears prowl and the dead rove with incurable hunger.

You work from dawn to sunset; you work so you have no time to think. The baby doesn’t feel real, and neither does Aemond being gone, and the future is so unimaginable you’d rather not try to imagine it at all. Because you’re a good shot, they want you for patrols and raids of nearby towns to search for supplies, and you take every shift you’re offered until Rhaena says you have to stop. She tells you that each time you leave, Aegon watches the door until you walk through it again, that it’s not good for him, that it’s not good for you either. She says you can’t keep running from what’s happened.

“I’m not trying to run away,” you tell her where she’s cornered you by one of the wells, lilac twilight sky and glimmers of stars, hoots of owls and children laughing as they roast marshmallows over crackling fires. “I’m trying to find my way through.”

“Fine,” Rhaena replies firmly, no room for argument. “But you’re going to do that in here where it’s safe.”

The new houses have wooden walls and kitchen fireplaces made of stones, beds with feather mattresses, plots for gardens and pens for ducks, chickens, pigs, sheep, goats, turkeys, cattle. Helaena and Cregan move into one cabin, Rhaena and Luke share another, and you have the last to yourself, the first time you’ve ever lived alone. Aegon and Daeron float around between the houses, more often than not ending up in yours as the sun is dipping below the tree line into the west, Daeron carving wooden cutlery with a hunting knife, Aegon cuddling with Ice on the deerskin rug, luring you into disastrous baking attempts and games of Uno and telling stories about Washington D.C., Djibouti, Key West, Corpus Christi, Chinhae, Diego Garcia, Saratoga Springs before the dead began to walk.

Thanksgiving dinner is at Rio’s parents’ house, Sophie’s baby sound asleep in his blue sling, candles flickering and Ice lying beneath the table to gulp down scraps that fall to the floor: roasted turkey, hazelnut stuffing, buttered carrots, mashed potatoes, pickled beets, salad with homemade ranch dressing, pumpkin pie for dessert.

“God, I miss chilidogs,” Aegon mutters beside you, and you laugh—a real laugh, loud and helpless, a lightness flooding into your arteries and the marrow of your bones—for the first time since Aemond died.

“You have to try this,” Sophie says, pouring you a small glass of moonshine distilled with apples and cherries and cinnamon. Everybody else has already had a taste except Aegon. He doesn’t drink anymore, doesn’t smoke the weed people grow here, only keeps a few tobacco plants in your garden to enjoy on rare occasions.

“I can’t,” you tell Sophie, staring at the amber-colored moonshine. You are over three months along and will be showing soon. It materializes all at once, shifts from a hazy apparition to something in full focus: next Thanksgiving you will have a fatherless infant of your own.

Sophie is puzzled. The glass of moonshine waits untouched on the table. “Why not?”

“Because I’m pregnant,” you say.

Aegon chokes on his pumpkin pie. “You’re what?!”

And everyone except Helaena drops their forks and leaps up to engulf you: How long have you known? How far along are you? Why didn’t you tell us? How can we help?

You stop lifting heavy things and stay off of ladders. Helaena brings you kale and mushrooms, Sophie knits you baby clothes, Rio’s mom makes you candles infused with essential oils, lavender, chamomile, ginger, and you lie and say they make a difference. Aegon helps you build a crib; you don’t need his help, but still, he insists. Smiling to himself, he etches two words into the headboard: Mini Chips. Wheat is planted in the fields to the north of the village. Scrap metal is scavenged for the blacksmiths to melt down to make nails and bullets. You learn to sweeten desserts with honey instead of sugar and to hold your hand flat when you feed the baby goats so they won’t nibble your fingers. You wait for winter to thaw and summer to come back around again.

It is what people would call a bad birth: hemorrhaging and lots of stitches, Rhaena squinting in the glow of the flashlights trying to piece you back together, rain outside and no lidocaine. You can’t stop crying. You feel like you’re going to die, and you’re shaking too badly to hold your own child, and you want Aemond. He would know what to do, he would know how to make the world go quiet. And the truth that he will never meet his daughter hits you over and over again like cold lethal waves, like bullets that pierce the heart.

Aegon is here instead, and you want to cling to him but you can’t; if all the others could die, so can he. But even when you look away from him to stare at the wall he stays, his hand clutching yours and never complaining even when you squeeze it hard enough to leave bruises that paint him maroon and indigo, tilting glasses filled with fresh pomegranate juice against your lips, asking Rhaena and Ian what you will need from him as you recover. Slowly the house empties and everyone goes home, but Aegon stays through the night and never leaves again.

Harmony cries a lot, as if she already knows she’s lost someone. She has trouble nursing and only sleeps for a few hours at a time. People are always coming in and out of the house: Sophie with handknit clothes and blankets for the baby, Helaena with flowers and fruit and vegetables, Rhaena with loaves of Luke’s fresh-baked bread, Cregan with firewood. At first Aegon is better with Harmony than you are. You love her, of course, and you mourn for the life you cannot give her; but you can’t shake the feeling that someone left her on your doorstep, this fragile bewildering creature you are so unequipped to soothe. Yet Aegon picks her up and she stops crying. He carries her around the house and murmurs nonsense—rules of golf, sailing knots—and she gazes up at him mesmerized; and in the peace that grows from him like weeds, wild and inevitable, you can heal.

Aegon helps you walk for the first week after the birth. He brings you meals, overflowing plates you can never finish. He respectfully averts his eyes when you nurse the baby and when he passes the bedroom as you’re changing clothes, slowly and inelegantly, every muscle feeling shredded. He falls exhausted into bed beside you with his arms crossed over his chest so he won’t reach for you in his sleep. You keep waiting for him to start craving marijuana and moonshine, to meet someone who makes him wayward again while you are left here alone, morose and unglamorous and bleeding. You care about Aegon—entirely, violently—but you are convinced you’ll never love a man again. Perhaps love is something that is always doomed to be broken, ruinous, poisoned.

When Harmony is about four months old, you begin to see Aegon differently. You can’t stop staring at the way his hair shags over his eyes when he’s bent low in the garden, you hide behind walls and listen each time you catch him singing to himself, you feel a dark desperate sense of loss when other women flirt with him, though Aegon is never more than polite in return. You find excuses to touch him, and he always acquiesces: Let me bandage the cuts on your hands, let me dab honey on your sunburn.

One night you wake to find Aegon with Harmony in the kitchen, humming and rocking her in his arms as he paces back and forth across the wood floor in his bare feet, the full moon radiant through the window, the fireplace crackling. He glances over when he notices you standing in the doorway and says: “I think this is the only thing I’ve ever been good at.”

“Aegon?”

“Yeah, Chips.”

“I’m in love with you.”

At first he is startled, and then he smiles in the firelight, a slow mischievous curve of the lips that puts stars in his eyes and shows his teeth. “Took you long enough.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Nearly ten years ago, you were learning how to be a builder at Class A Technical School in Gulfport, Mississippi, salt and sun and sweet tea and humidity that lies heavy like a second skin you can’t shed. Today you are hammering nails into boards that will be a wall of the new meeting house, twice the square footage of the old one. The community here keeps growing.

“Watch out for your fingers, Zack Attack.”

 Zack looks over at you. He’s a kid, nineteen, and he’s only been here a week. He left Beaumont, Texas with a group of thirty people, one of them the cousin of a council member here. Twelve were left when they arrived. “Huh?”

“You’re holding the nail too close to the bottom,” you say. “If you swing the hammer and miss—and you will miss, everyone does sometimes, even me—you’ll crush your fingers against the wood. But if you hold the nail up near the top, the hammer will kind of knock them out of the way as it comes down, and you won’t have to worry about Rhaena or Ian popping your bones back into place.”

“Oh, cool! Thanks!” Zack readjusts his hands. “Where’d you learn to do all this?”

“The Navy.”

“Right. That makes sense.” He gives you a crooked, conspiratorial grin. “I heard you’re a good shot.”

“I am, I guess.” You don’t do patrols anymore, but you’re on the list of people to call when there’s a security breach, and you go because you have to. If Odessa is ever overrun, that will be the end of the life you’ve made here. The last scare was two months ago, a hoard that wandered up from the south, probably out of Klamath Falls. Someone knocked and you answered, leaving Aegon standing in the doorway with troubled eyes, Noah in his arms asking: Where Mama go? And Aegon had told him She’ll be back soon, buddy, but of course no one had known if that was true.

Now Zack says admiringly: “A real killer.”

You smile and give him a slap on the shoulder as you start climbing down the ladder. “I’d rather be a builder.”

“You heading out?”

“Yeah, my kids probably miss me.”

“See ya tomorrow. Bring more of Aegon’s raspberry crumb muffins.”

You laugh. “If there are any left.”

Down on the ground, bumblebees orbit tufts of wildflowers and cats prowl for mice. Sitting cross-legged on the grass are kids rubbing nails against bars of goat milk soap; it makes them go into the wood easier. They play the same way you did as a child: in the dirt, in the wild, tracking animals and building dams in the creek. They wave as you pass by. Everyone knows each other here. Everyone knows what you can do with the Beretta M9 in your holster.

Beside one of the wells, Daeron is helping a flock of tittering, blushing women pull up their buckets and plucking stray blades of grass and pine needles out of their hair. He is easily the most eligible bachelor in Odessa, and in no hurry to take himself off the market. By the schoolhouse, two teenagers are petting Ice as they listen to Aegon’s pink Sony Walkman and rap along to Gold Digger: “You will see him on tv, any given Sunday, win the Super Bowl and drive off in a Hyundai…”

But at Sophie’s house, the song you hear is Darius Rucker’s Wagon Wheel, drifting from a battery-powered boombox containing one of Rio’s dad’s cassette tapes. Aegon is already here and dusted with earth, your children clamoring around his legs as he chats with Sophie at the edge of the garden: zucchini, snap peas, tomatoes, strawberries, spinach, potatoes, cucumbers, carrots, kale. When Aegon sees you, he lights up and says to the kids: “Look! Look who’s here!” And you crouch down and open your arms so you can catch all three of them as they barrel into you on small, wobbly legs.

The second birth was much easier, the third only lasted an afternoon. Opal, three years old, is named after a gemstone that Sophie told you symbolizes hope and clarity; Noah, two and with unruly blonde hair like Aegon’s, shares a name with the man who started over when the world flooded and all the generations before were lost. You pick him up before he can trip over his own feet.

“Mama, come see!” Harmony shouts, grabbing your free hand and dragging you to a hutch full of fluffy, multicolored rabbits. Aegon is walking over to join you, his hands in his pockets and a soft smile on his lips, long blonde hair and stubbled cheeks.

“Are these the new meat rabbits?” you say without thinking, and Aegon widens his eyes at you.

Harmony peers up with a worried frown. She’s getting too smart to be shielded from such harsh realities. “Why did you call them meat rabbits?”

Aegon swoops Harmony off the ground to distract her. “Because they’re so excited to meet you!” he says as she giggles and kicks through open air.

“What are their names?” you ask to change the subject.

“Arrax,” Opal says in her toddler lisp, pointing to a grey one. And then, indicating a rabbit with long, reddish-tan fur: “Morning.”

“Those are such nice names!” you gush, a bit perplexed. Children have a certain mystery to them, one foot still in the Great Beyond, wherever souls wait to be born and reunited.

“And this one is Sunfyre,” Harmony announces proudly, reaching through the wire to scratch its straw-colored coat.

“Sunfyre?!” Aegon says. “Well now you’re just making shit up.” A pause. “Stuff. You’re making stuff up.”

“And Sunfyre is married to Dreamfyre.”

“Cute,” Aegon says. “Incestuous, but cute.”

“The post-apocalypse dating pool is limited,” you remind him.

“Have you met the Texas people yet?” Sophie asks you as she wanders over to the hutch in a handknit yellow dress, wearing elephant earrings that Rio once mailed home to her from Djibouti.

“Yeah, some of them are working on the meeting house. They seem really nice. And apparently they know how to barbeque, so that’s exciting. New recipes!”

Sophie smirks. “When they dropped by to introduce themselves, I had to have the whole conversation again.”

“Well…you did name your kid Otter.”

“Wait, wait, hold on,” Sophie says, chuckling, showing her palms. “I did not name him Otter.”

“You named him Bryan Otter Osorio. And you call him Otter.”

“Because he’s a little kid and it’s a perfectly fine nickname for now! And then when he’s older…you know…he can decide who he wants to be.”

You smile. “Sure.”

“I think it’s great, personally,” Aegon says. “I’m hoping I’ll get to name my next one Softshell Turtle.”

“Absolutely,” you deadpan. “And what if it’s a girl?”

“Softshell Turtle is obviously unisex.”

Sophie is laughing and shaking her head. “I hate you guys.”

Helaena and Cregan arrive to pick up their children, two sets of twins, all named after species of butterflies: Skipper, Adonis, Tiger, Sara. Rio’s parents bring them outside to the garden to be collected. They and Sophie like to keep the house full of children, especially now that Otter is getting older. And when they need meat or firewood or their roof patched, they know who to ask.

“I’m so sorry,” Sophie tells Helaena and Cregan as they wrangle their brood. “I’m mortified. Adonis ate Harmony’s oatmeal raisin cookie and made her cry, so Otter smacked him in the head with his golf club.” Aegon has carved miniature, lightweight clubs out of pine wood for each of the children; they zip around putting acorns and walnuts. “Adonis was freaked out but I think he’s fine now. I couldn’t find a bruise or anything. Again, I’m so, so, so sorry.”

“You okay, buckaroo?” Cregan asks, and his oldest son—brunette man bun, already pestering his dad to take him hunting—nods adamantly.

“Duh. It didn’t even hurt.”

Cregan guffaws and turns back to Sophie. “See? No harm done.”

Otter trots out of the house, rubbing his eyes like he just woke up from a nap. Harmony immediately runs over to hug him. He’s already six inches taller than her and is always giving her gifts that end up on the fireplace mantle at your house: flecks of quartz, pinecones, bracelets woven from buttercups.

Sophie asks Otter: “Did you think about what you did earlier?”

“Yeah,” he replies cavalierly.

“Would you do it again?”

“Probably.”

“Oh dear,” Sophie exhales, exasperated.

You beam down at Otter. “He’s exactly like Rio.”

“Yeah,” Sophie says wistfully, combing her fingers through his dark curly hair. “He really is.”

Rhaena and Luke happen to be strolling by and stop to say hello. Luke teaches English classes at the schoolhouse, founded the Cultural Preservation Committee, and writes and directs a new play each month. When he is in the lull between original ideas, he draws from pre-zombie pop culture. The June production is Free Britney.

“Hi!” Rhaena says, waving. “Are we still on for dinner tonight?” All the adults offer greetings and confirm they’ll swing by her and Luke’s cabin in a few hours. Then Rhaena shields her eyes from the sun as she sighs incredulously. “Do you realize there are ten women due in the next two weeks? I spend all day rushing around because they’re panicking about Braxton Hicks contractions. If I get one full night’s sleep between now and mid-July, it’ll be a miracle. Am I the only human alive who knows how to use the rhythm method? I explain it! I give lessons!”

You laugh and say: “I think people just really want babies, Rhaena.”

“They’re so sweet,” Helaena coos as she snuggles Sara against her chest.

“Gotta repopulate the planet,” Cregan adds.

Rhaena is disturbed. “I don’t feel ready for that.”

“Totally cool,” you assure her. “Helaena and I are keeping the average up.”

That night, logs pop and hiss in the fireplace and wind howls outside through the forest. On the walls are photographs of Aemond and Helaena and Daeron, drawings that the children have scribbled of you and Aegon. Propped in one corner of the living room is Aegon’s acoustic guitar; Harmony’s current favorite song for him to play is Big Girls Don’t Cry, though a slightly censored version of Fergalicious is a close second. Tomorrow is Aegon’s birthday. You have a cake hidden in one of the kitchen cabinets—cinnamon, honey, buttercream frosting—that you baked this morning before leaving for the construction site, along with 35 small homemade candles dyed green with chamomile. Every year he assumes you’ve forgotten, but you never do. You’re so thankful he was born. You are eternally finding new ways to convince him of this.

All five of you cuddle up in the big bed for story time. You begin as you always do, struggling to capture the kids’ attention as they crawl around giggling and rolling on top of each other: “Hey, hey, everyone look at me. You remember what we say.” Harmony knows this part my heart, Opal has the words mostly right, Noah gives it a solid effort as he mauls on a teddy bear Sophie knitted for him. “You’re beautiful. I love you. You’re doing the right thing.”

“What story should Mama tell tonight, huh?” Aegon asks as you open the book of fairytales borrowed from the makeshift community library, another one of Luke’s projects. “The Little Mermaid, Goldilocks and the Three Bears, Beauty and the Beast…oh wait, I think I might be in that one…”

Harmony says to you: “Tell the story about how Aemond saved us from the tower.”

Children understand death here. People get infections, people succumb to cancer or heart attacks or strokes or diabetes, people go out on raids or patrols and never come back, one man contracted rabies from a bat bite and was—at his request—euthanized via gunshot. Harmony is aware she had a father before Aegon, but that he had to go to heaven early, and so Aegon is her father now and loves her completely. She knows Aemond’s face from the photographs Helaena took from the beach house on the Pacific Ocean. She knows the kind of person he was from the stories she’s been told. Harmony envisions a fantastical castle keep instead of a stark metal transmission tower draped in dead wires, and she’s a bit unclear on the chronology of when she entered the picture, but she has heard about the journey to Odessa. Aegon’s map, annotated with glittery green gel pen ink, hangs on the kitchen wall.

You close the book, looking at Harmony: your hair, Aemond’s eyes. “Okay. I can tell that one.”

“Mama…” Her little forehead crinkles, questions she is at last getting old enough to start asking. “Why do some people have to go to heaven before they’re old?”

You hesitate, trying to decide how to explain; and now embers are glowing hot and scarring in your throat. It’s a fire that cools and rekindles but never burns out. Aegon speaks instead. “Because they’re heroes, Mini Chips,” he says gently. “They go to heaven so other people get to stay here longer. Aemond went to heaven so you and your mom could live here in Odessa with me.”

“So Otter’s daddy was a hero too?”

Aegon leans down to kiss the top of her head, his eyes shining. “Yeah. Exactly.”

Not just a hero, you think. A martyr. Someone who dies for a cause.

Harmony is patting your arm with her tiny outstretched hand. “The tower, Mama. Tell us about the tower.”

Now you are there again with Rio: sixty feet off the ground and clinging to metal beams hot enough to put blisters on your palms, cascading June sunlight and wild emerald fields, blood and madness behind you, the mirage of Oregon ahead, believing without reason that someone out there will save you.

And they will; they will.

[majestick-posts-op]

My little attempt at a few characters from @where-does-the-heart-lie 's fighting game au because i seriously love it so much. Go take a look at their blog if you haven't already.

All of these being concepts I wanted to explore.

Explanations and stuff:

Went full seamonster with Shirahoshi. I think itfits her and being a little intimidating but actually a sweetheart is so her. She doesn't wear a lot of clothes in canon so I just focused on the hearts details. Her hair already looked like a heart and that's adorable but I also chaged her fish jewlery into heart jewlry to show that her love in where her people are, and she really cares about them. She's very happy to be here.

For Rebecca I completely scrapped her canon clothes and decided to blend in casual clothing (the hoodie and shoes) with her armour and some newtral elements. Making her braids into a series of hearts i think was a good idea, but i mainly added a heart on her helmet to show that her love in rational and her dmotional maturity despite her age and all the shit that goes on in her life. I think she would a model students that's considered of high potential.

For Bonney I liked that in canon she kinda has clothes that adapt to her body growing/deaging and stuff but i wanted her to be... less naked. So i added this tight suit thingy (tried to make it look modern/science like. Maybe a gift from Dr. Vp) that supposedly changes alongside her. Her heart patches on her jacket and knees rappresent her dad and her mom since those are the people she cares about the most. The bear ears on the hat i couldn't pass on.

Carrot i thought fit a more classic schoolgirl vibe, with a uniform. BUT i firmly believe she would wear a million tiny accessories like leg warmers, scruncies, pins, and other stuff. Very colorful, very kidcore. The white in her hair is for her sulong form while the hearts are in her actual ears and fur because... she's just made out of love. Silly.

Boa... another one of my favuorites.... full on ancient greek Medusa makeover. If i had paid attention in class i would flex my italian student knowledge and explain the composition of her clothes but I didn't. Lots of golden jewelry in her hair, which is the main heart since even in canon, Boa uses her love as a weapon. While the second heart is where her jolly roger is in canon because her loves also protects her people. I just think making her a snake woman was the best course of action. Screw beauty standards, embrace reptillian charm.

I wanted Pudding to look like a doll as much as possible. If you compare her to Big Mom's design below, you can see that their outfits have a lot in common like the puffy sleeves and layered skirts. And if you look at the hearts, they are mostly in her hair (the silouettes of her ponytails) and scruncies. This is because Big mom did it and she wants her kids to show love the way SHE wants. But then, if you look even more close, there is one more heart, again in her hair, but around her 3rd eye. Caused by the negative space in her bangs. This reflects the love Pudding has towards herself. Hidden, manipulated by otgers, but still in there. And she has pants below because i think she would tuck in the outer most layer of her skirts to walk around more freely. She knows what a practical fighting outfit unlike her mum...

The kids!!! They don't go to the school yet (at least not the HS section. Maybe there's an elementary/middle school one) but they defunetly want to. Went very simple for them. Tama's outfit borrows elements from Luffy (the shirt) and Ace's (the hoodie) because she looks up to them, and the gloves are practical fir her ability.

While Toko's borrows a few elements from Zoro's (the haramaki) and Sanji's (the jacket) since they are the ones she looks up to. The hearts are on her writs for a "wearing your heart on your sleeve" pun. Because even though she can't show her emotions well anymore, she still feels them nontheless.

Kidd and Killer already embodied the vube if this AU ngl. The hearts reminded me of this awesome Killer cosplay so he is showing off that pose. His hearts are on his masks because he uses his love to hide his insecurities and stuff. But Kidd's hearts are on his robotic arm since his weapons are his love. I think he wouldn't have that many on him since he isn't the most lovely dovely dude in the world so they're subtle. Very simbolic. Didn't change the outfits much, just made them more modern looking. (And yes, those are nipple piercing on kidd's tits. I have hobbies alright?) BUT. If you tool at the pants, you'll notice very clearly that they have matching heart chains of eachothers colours because THEY ARE EACHOTHER'S LOVE!!! I love these idiots.

And finally the villians. For Big Mom I went with a "evil teacher/mad queen" vibe. Not a fan of her canon hair, surprisingly, so I did a beehive that was suppossed to be heart shaped but gravity showed her true colours (bad poetic attempt.) Her hearts are very important. You know that heart tatoo she has on her shoulder in canon? Well, here its on the back on her neck! While these? Because its the only place she can't see, and others don't really either. Because her love has been hidden and forgotten by herself, instead showing off mountains of fake hearts on her clothes and jewelry. Like the fake heaven she tried to create in her country that only ended up being a real hell. And... and... and... I got carried away, sorry. Love a well written female character.

Kaidou is all dragon since i'm keeping the thene if making the zoan fruit users into antrho/hybrid desings. Added a lot of spikes. Its his thing. Made the outfit inspired by his younger age fits and nothing too special BUT i want to focus on the heart pkacement. Because if you look closely at hus arm... yep! Its all hearts, not scales! Because Kaidou's love has also been amounted to just his strenght and his potential, going as far as to do that on his dominant arm. Even the little cracks on his horns are actually heart shaped. Because his failures/weaknesses and strenghts/wins are interconnetted in a way he doesn't even realise because he's too busy locking up his son in a cave.

And lastly Blackbeard would be the final boss or smth. Cryptic life sucking creature. No hearts. I hate him. (His silouette is based after a metastastic cancer cell)

[acaciapines]

hello !! what are your thoughts on actors and acting in a world with daemons ? how do you think they would work ?

oooh this is super interesting...i've been thinking over this most of the day and i honestly think there wouldnt be a lot of like, huge and drastic changes. i do think people would cast for appearance of the human actor AND the daemon actor, so there would 100% be casting calls that would be like 'canine daemons only' because whatever character youre auditioning for would have a canine daemon.

BUT ALSO i think there'd be like. daemon costumes!! for places where you need a specific form but your actor isnt settled as such--like, maybe youre doing a documentary about a real person who settled as a parrot, and your actor is AWESOME but a rat. so there's a rat with a parrot costume :3 i feel like this would be more common on stage than on screen (think like, if youve ever seen the costumes of lion king on broadway, thats sorta the vibe i could see), since i feel like CGI tech would make it a tad easier to pass off one animal as another.

like i dont think cgi would replace a daemon actor entirely (to me thats like casting a human actor, and then using cgi to turn them into an entirely different person) but you would use cgi like how cgi is used today, like i know some cgi is used for costuming and stuff. so maybe a daemon has a sort of green screen type costume and thats how you get some species-changes, but like, their face and general shape is still their own.

on the same thread of movies/tv/shows etc, i do think on average there'd actually be less characters per show...like a show in our world would have four main characters, but a show in a world with daemons would have two--because the daemons are characters now too! so this might mean acting is even more competitive than it is today, since there's just less roles even if theres the same number of productions.

tho this varies based on how you present daemons in your world lol, in my 'ideal' sort of daemon-world they'd get as much sceentime as their human counterparts so you'd just have to cut down on total characters, but i write worlds where things are Not good for daemons lol.

along those lines i bet theres also daemon forms that are more vs less likely to get cast--i tend to go canine + feline are the most desired and thus like. "uplifted" forms so every hero has a lion etc, so if you wanna act but youre a sea slug you are going to struggle a LOT to be cast, bc productions would be like sorry we just need dogs <3 i think there would be a mammal bias and i wonder if there'd be anti-discrimination laws passed about this? i feel like that would be really contentious in-universe though, like a thing often argued about--people like, there are totally roles for snakes! (theyre only villian parts). or you can get cast with a fish daemon! (you will never get a main part and most of the time cant even get an extra part because its "too much work" to make the space fish-daemon accessible.) basically you can take this a lot of ways too!

if anyone else has ideas feel free to add on! or send me asks about unrelated daemon topics. i love talking about daemons :3

[maniculum]

Bestiaryposting Results: Dolthruk

More physical description than usual on this one, some of which I worry makes the creature a bit obvious, but we'll see how that plays out.

If you're not sure what any of this is about, please refer to https://maniculum.tumblr.com/bestiaryposting.

To see the entry the artists are working from, click here:

To see the one we're doing for next week, and possibly contribute your own work, click here:

Art below the cut.

@silverhart-makes-art (link to post here) started with a platypus, then added some other influences to make the described size work. I think it came out quite well -- that is a solid depiction of what a platypus relative might look like if it were huge and terrifying.

@cheapsweets (link to post here) has also given us something quite frightening -- I don't think I'd want to get near this one. Or see it in person. The inspirations for this design are pretty interesting -- I'd recommend checking them out in the linked post. And, if that distinctively-patterned hide looks familiar to you, that is addressed in the linked post as well. (Also thank you for providing alt text.)

@citrvsdrake (link to post here) also has a quite fearsome rendition, this one almost draconic -- in their post, they mention that they originally thought of some sort of river snake, but with armor and legs this becomes more of a dragon. I think it's a good dragon, too.

@pomrania (link to post here) also started with the idea of making a large, dangerous platypus, but went in a different direction, emphasizing scales and spikes. I like the serrated bill here; that's a nice touch.

@wendievergreen (link to post here) has instead drawn something adorable, noting that they decided to go in the opposite direction of what they suspected the animal was. I think it's delightful. For explanation of the inspirations for this design, and a close-up of the image, see the linked post. (Also, thank you for providing alt text -- and I think the banana thing is still funny too.)

@coolest-capybara (link to post here) brings the Beast Vibe back to "frightening" with this creation. Some fantastic work with the faces on both the Dolthruk and the fish, and of course I love the Stylized Plants... listen. Does anyone else think this looks like the cover of a really wild album? (Also, thank you for providing alt text.)

Anyway.

Aberdeen Bestiary says...

... no picture for you. It's not been cut out this time, they just didn't draw one. This section is more or less without illustrations, in fact. Maybe they considered it less important -- according to the bestiary's categorization system, this is a fish, actually. Sure, it has legs, but it lives in the water, what else do you want?

The Ashmole Bestiary, my backup illustration source, makes the same decision, but Bodley MS 764, my backup text source, does provide an illustration (and doesn't call it a fish).

Okay, so that's not a hugely realistic depiction, but it's probably not completely shocking to say that this is the crocodile.

I was surprised not to see any reference to tears in the Aberdeen entry -- the concept of "crocodile tears" is popular in the bestiaries.

The bit about color that I redacted from the entry claims that the crocodile's name comes from crocus due to its saffron-colored hide (not in evidence in the above image). I don't think this is true -- both English words can be traced back through Latin to Greek, and they certainly sound similar, but it seems crocus is probably a loanword into Greek from somewhere in the Semitic language family (hard to say which language specifically), and thus unrelated to crocodile despite their shared elements.

[solas-backpack-mug]

Six-song soundtrack

Rules: If you're tagged, make a new post with links to music and/or lyrics describing the following:

An event that defines your character's past

How your character sees themselves

How others view them

Their closest relationship (platonic or romantic)

A major fight scene

End credits song

tagged by @herearedragons, thanks <3

also thanks for introducing me to two of the songs i chose

songs for my beloved watcher rangi (with her past life asaria as a part of her)

An event that defines your character's past: Torches - The Oh Hellos

How your character sees themselves: The Calling - The Amazing Devil

How others view them: Rule #9 - Child of the Stars - Fish in a Birdcage

Their closest relationship (platonic or romantic): Inkpot Gods - The Amazing Devil

A major fight scene: The Horror and the Wild - The Amazing Devil

End credits song: Queen of Peace - Florence + the Machine

An event that defines your character's past

Torches - The Oh Hellos

I got a venom like a snake running out of my mouth

(Running out of my mouth, running out of my mouth)

It's got you burning at the stake

Innocent or not, you're not a bet I care to take

And Father Ignorance will make brothers of us all

(Brothers of us all, brothers of us all)

As he sets our torch aflame

Chasing down the flimsy specters that we co-create

^ reference to asaria's past as an inquisitor and the inquisition as a whole, with thaos mention

Mother Fortuna, O, she makes sisters of us all

(Sisters of us all, sisters of us all)

When the faces in her wake

Look more like our own than the effigies we immolate

^ iovara mention here!!! @herearedragons made BEAUTIFUL art with lyrics from this song during artfight <3

How your character sees themselves

The Calling - The Amazing Devil

this song right here is a #1 rangi song. the first time i listened to it i was amazed by how well some lines fit rangi, especially during the first game

Back then, I was dauntless

And dawn could never know

And my weakness made me weep less

Than I would ever show youI'd burn so bright it blinded

Now I know that light guided me here

^ mention of eothas, and reference to asaria being a dawn godlike and eothas' priestess. asaria did also use blind people with her godlike glow as a punishment for people perceived as heretics by the inquisition

I look into the waters and see a face I don't recognize

Who's this? (Who are you?)

"What changed?" I ask

"So strange, " she replies

^ mention of rangi's messy awakening!!!

How others view them

Rule #9 - Child of the Stars - Fish in a Birdcage

this song is eothas pov, directed towards asaria - his first daughter.

I remember your eyes were clear

Brighter than the sun

^ reference to asaria being dawn godlike

I could only lead you so far

I believe in who you are

^ eothas' hope for asaria and wanting her to live independently

Their closest relationship (platonic or romantic)

Inkpot Gods - The Amazing Devil

this one is for the relationship with iovara after the final confrontation with thaos <3 some parts are iovara pov and some are rangi pov

And what you see is not the dark

It's just the gods upturning ink pots 'cause they know what you'll become

And to those gods, I will speak bluntly

"We've an accord, if you ever touch or harm him

Please, rest assured that you might not fear a man

But to a woman, by the end, you'll kneel and plea

first part - reference to iovara imprisoned in sun-in shadow. second part - rangi WOULD say that to the gods in defense of iovara.

If I don't make it back from where I've gone

Just know I loved you all along

this, repeated over and over at the end!!! this fits for both of them <3

A major fight scene

The Horror and the Wild - The Amazing Devil

this one is about rangi vs thaos. it fits more in vibes than lyrics. the best line is this:

Think of all the horrors that I promised you I'd bring

I promise you, they'll sing of every time

You passed your fingers through my hair and called me child

Witness me, old man, I am the wild

End credits song

Queen of Peace - Florence + the Machine

Oh, the king

Gone mad within his suffering

Called out for relief

Someone cure him of his grief

His only son

Cut down, but the battle won

Oh, what is it worth?

When all that's left is hurt

^ this is EXACTLY what happened with od nua when his son maros nua died in battle, which led to engwithan research in animancy. it works very well with poe lore but it's especially fitting for rangi as an animancer and one of the most important engineers working on fixing the wheel

Like the stars chase the sun

Over the glowing hill, I will conquer

Blood is running deep

Some things never sleep

^ mention of eothas and a vague reference to gods' secrets

tagging @adozentothedawn @sun-marie @ampleappleamble <3

[loz-chainsofcorruption]

Okay I'm gonna use the tags @thejolteonmastertj left on this post to ramble a little bit about Boots' story! (Ty for the funny tags and the excuse for me to info dump! Because yes, I really want him to feel like he's from an appropriately quirky Zelda game that doesn't exist and I'm glad that was captured within such a small snippet of a story, and a crossover piece no less!)

So, my other two current projects - Colliding Fates and Midrule - are basically just me vibing. It's more story focused, in a way? Like I'm not worrying about how well it would translate into a game. With Chains of Corruption, however, from the very beginning I wanted it to be a story that, in theory, could translate pretty well into a game. It's been a fun way to challenge myself.

There are a few things so far that wouldn't make for good game levels/mechanics, especially the Trials he must go through to power up the Master Sword. Most of the ideas I came up with weren't very "playable" (wouldn't be fun to at least), but felt like they'd be good lessons/challengest for Link to overcome.

I'm still working out the different bosses he'll face, but as I work on their designs, I ask myself, could this translate to a good video game boss? What mechanics would be involved in defeating this and would it suit a video game? When I think about the dungeons and his items, I try and figure out what sections I can block off that he can't bypass until he gets certain items later - things that a player wouldn't have to go back for, but could if they wanted. I'm making side quests that can't always be finished until he gets an item upgrade. And just... side quests in general. Optional, technically, but our Link here cannot resist helping others.

There's a super convoluted fetch quest where you have to get something for one person, but to get that, you need this from that person, but to get that, you need to find this thing, etc etc etc, and it's got 12 required trading items. The reward is a Good Joke - and more importantly, a bomb bag, so it's absolutely worth it (in my opinion, and definitely in Boots' opinion), but technically, nothing in his story actually needs bombs, it just makes some areas easier and opens access to extra areas where you can get items to finish "get me x number of these things pls!" quests, or rupees and whatnot.

Some things are like, extraordinarily silly - I'm pretty sure gamers would throw a fit if they got their awaited for dungeon item only for it to be like, the equivalent of fishing waders with a bucket attached to the end instead of something cool HAHA but! You do need it to beat the boss ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ and it can be used again for another side quest later.

I wanted to put a lot of nods to other games in this, so I've worked hard to include a lot of punny names as far as NPCs and towns and other things. Sid Burns is a character with huge side burns. Roan Reigner is the local horse guy in Link's town. Saltin Town is the fishing town by the ocean and Mrs. Mahi Pyke has a son named Marlin who moved there. There'll be a guy who shares his name with a horse as a nod to Spinch and Spinch from botw. I've also got clowns running a cannon to help Link reach a spot he otherwise couldn't, Beedle, NPCs with goofy dialogue for no real purpose, etc. I really just wanted to embrace the vibe the Zelda series has.

There's some Odd Inexplicable Things, as Zelda games often have - really, when you start to think hard about all the oddball stuff they throw in, like the gossip stones flying into the sky when bombed, cows being in grottos for some reason, actual aliens?, toilet hands, an imprisoned shark, etc, you realize that these games have so many oddities - and I wanted to have a few strange things that you just gotta kinda shrug and go yeah okay, sure, I guess that's a thing. How the heck did that lady do what she did to the cuccos without getting murdered? Why could that one single snake talk? What was that weird child with a thousand yard stare that vanished when followed?

And, of course, there are the horrors. The things that are just of just Terrible. Putting Link through terrible situations, balancing out the comedy with emotional moments and terrifying encounters.

Ah, and I should not neglect to mention the Bad Guy who is trying to help Ganon escape who Link runs into a few times. He summons monsters for you to fight and then eventually, Link gets to fight him directly.

So yeah idk I guess in a way this is a love letter to the Zelda series, which is pretty funny when I've only actually played two games for myself and haven't even beat either of them. But I just think the series is so neat, the formula they use, the mixture of absurdity, scary, and funny that you find in a lot of them, and so on. So I wanted to try and capture that vibe. I hope when people read it, they'll reach certain scenes where they go, ah yes, I can imagine how this boss fight would go in game! Sort of like when you see certain scenes in movies and it feels a bit like watching a video game level.

I still need to finish putting things in his timeline so I can start posting the story itself, which I keep putting off because figuring out the best placement for some of his items is tricky... -v-; I should work on that more today.

But in the meantime, thank you to everyone who shows interest in Boots and his story <3 it means a lot!

[jackals-ships]

eating Slightly more substantially and feeling better like hell yeah <3 now. Fish Facts In There. misc and ones that have been mentioned b4 almost definitely

under a cut bc Length tm

as i put it to my moirail; Orphaner Ulyses "Dualscar" Ampora is a violet blooded troll of ????sweeps, old as hell seemingly impossible to kill and quite frankly done with everyone elses bullshit. he's tangentially loyal to the Empress but mostly feeds her lusus to Keep Everyone From Fuckin Dying

alcoholic. troll alcoholic bc Sugar (acshoally wrote him in fics as goin for whisky so like that's the general Vibe)

dog voice if you keep smoking it's gonna kill you ("Wvhat you wvant me ta stop?") no. kill yourself 🥰

i can never settle on a Proper voice claim but it in my head leans. Heavy Thick Irish. slow drawl to his words. reads condescending (he is)

8ft tall minus horns being MENACED by these FUCKING CLOWNS (dog is ~6ft in heels grand is hmhm 10? 11. not as tall as Bachus but Tall)

passively suicidal fish. does not have a moirail someone PLEASE get this fish a moirail (it's partially dog)(they Will kill themself b4 admitting that)

sea i gotta do baby dual bc i imagine being Sea Dragon Adjacent he does run smaller but now it's "my GUY?" (hit baby him with the stocky draft horse instead. Emphasize It. hmmm)

also long ass tail. far too mobile. Yoinking His Dog an making them Shriek

guy who says shit and you go "nonono hey get back here let's unpack- HEY-" lock him and kankri in a room let's sea what happens

i think i decided somewhere along the way that the higher blood colors were just. A Lot Lower in numbers bc of being SO long lived (generally) aka dual voice i hawven't seen another vwiolet in swveeps and wvere gonna keep it that wvay <- guy who is dying of loneliness bc his crew keeps dying bc they live Less Time

Scamper Mode Ampora They Haunt Me (affectionate) that's where im like me @ me you made a dragon. very? Smooth Movements. Snake Like. Etc (i gotta figure out. the neck 2 body ratio also,,)

touch! starved! bitch! holy shit. dog is tactile and he's vibrating out of his skin like Do That Again- (i literally just touched your shoulder)

did his own tattoos (+ one of dogs. he's like. literally so normal about that why do you ask) and most of his piercings, the previous Orphaner taught him so he wouldn't Die Of An Infection Like An Idiot

speaking of gill piercings and i Know he's got some on his bulge/nook area. i know this. it was a drunken twenty's thing and he never bothered to take em out

setting is Post signless Pre summoners war iirc,,i gotta figure the Dolorosa an Mindfang thing

bc i wrote him n Mindfang as on an off bitter ex's/rivals who also Keep Stealing An Killing Each Others Crew Members When They Can (dog voice i just like to be involved which is why i stole all her left shoes o7)(....you wvh-)(also i moved all your shit two inches to the right. Fuck You)

[urlsaremeaningless]

collection of funny things people I know have said (part 2)

Feel free to change pronouns as needed <3 have fun! please reblog this if you enjoy it.

whats art without a little bit of OSHA violations

Ten-nessee implies the existence of nine-ssee

Mary-land must have been Mary-sea

While we're still here, whoop his ass too

their new companion Space Turtle, Hero from Space that they picked up after a drunken college party

That’s more of an ask than you think

We will let you fuck the monsters but I’m drawing the line at buildings

If you ignore all the ugly parts, it looks kinda nice

there was definitely gay love in there...somewhere

That’s like asking a beaver the size of his wood

I want to be in a hospital in Canada or France! Oui, oui, ow

Sir, do you know how fast your wheels were gyrating?

your honor, my client is in goblin mode

No mine isn’t a fun fact. It’s about animal abuse.

If an eel isnt just a snake fish then idk what is lol

..................where is the CORN STORE?!

thats like calling the tamborine the shakey wakey or the tuba the blowey blowey

I thought that said turn [name] into a mommy for a sec and I got real concerned for what was happening in this chiles tonight. Doesn’t mummy in retrospect sound less alarming now?

what THE FUCK is HALLOWS OF WEENS?!

He’s not giving the boobs their due diligence

I haven't seen any beer cans in a while and i'm getting concerned

It makes my nostrils feel lemony fresh

Wow, these people don’t know how milkshakes work…. Idk how we’re gonna get the boys to the yard

You’re like high fiving god right now

OSHA violations are like warcrimes for working people

I'm sorry, did you just say the dead baby has charisma?

cannibalism confirmed 13/10

Well, I could throw babies into an incinerator. That would be unforgettable, doesn't mean it's GOOD

[Person A] is the main character but okay [Person B] sure

shit!...i just killed someone

Oh shut the fuck up, no you're fucking not

...so like....is pluto a slave?

Corner cobbler corn cob, that’s where corner cobbler is on the corn cob-corn corner corn cobbler

If Charlie can be short for Charles, then Carly can be short for Carles

If shorten Charles to Chuck, then what can you shorten Carles to?

How do we Othello you?

look man, I'm just saying... who the fuck says 'yeah I want a bar of milky way,' like they're not gonna pick literally any other chocolate

The vibe I get is like you're a fancy butler by day but you have a rave later tonight

[mamamittens]

How would (X) react to you as (z) drunk?

I was curious about what kind of drunk I'd be considering my colorful family's different reactions and thought about this.

(I'd likely end up as a weepy, affectionate drunk until someone ticked me off cause I low-key already wanna cry a lot and it's mostly social anxiety that keeps me from physically expressing my love for friends without being a shit about it)

(which ig is better than a raging drunk or someone with a personality shift so severe drunk me has a different name and a reputation of being incredibly temperamental and aggressive)

But anyway! To the list!

Marco

As a happy drunk he's amused and generally happy to watch you run around being a jackass. Affectionately. Not likely to get too dragged into shenanigans but willing to supervise if only to tease you about it later.

As a weepy drunk he's more inclined to sit beside you and gently rub your back if it's more melancholy driven. Softly affirming but not letting you spiral too hard into depression. If it's "cry because snakes don't have arms to hug" he's pretty amused and willing to 'hear you out'. There will be a point where he stops letting you drink and switches to water though. As funny as it may be, dehydration is a bitch with a hangover.

As an affectionate drunk he's a bit startled if this is different from how you usually are. But he's also way more careful about distracting you since not everyone will innocently enjoy your affections. The last thing he wants is to take his eyes off of you and you end up with a creepy perving on you for a 'hug'.

As an angry drunk he's a bit amused and worried about all this tension you're suddenly setting loose. Willing to redirect it to himself so you don't break shit or fight someone you're not prepared for--regardless of how scrappy you are.

Drinking like a fish has him vibing with you and eventually weaning you onto water just to be safe. It's nice to not be the only sober-ish one at the party.

Blackouts will get a nice rundown the next day with appropriate teasing depending on what it is.

Sleepy drunks get amused cuddles and teasing. The party is still going and he expects a hearty thanks for keeping you safe from pranks while you're passed out.

Ace

Ace is literally that there with you for just about all of these, btw. He's very... communal in his vibes, really good at matching energy. So if you're a happy drunk he's laughing like a loon with you!

He's awkward if you're weepy though, genuinely growing distressed even if you're crying over something silly and this worry extends past the hangover. Expect a lot of warm, supportive hugs. Its rough out here buddy, but he's here for you.

Affectionate drunks throw him off weirdly enough. He vibes but always seems shocked to be dragged into a hug. But he will be mindful of who's hanging around you when you're like this. Kind of enjoys hogging your attention like this.

Angry drunks will find the perfect fighting partner with Ace but he won't be... gentle about it. Perfectly at ease focusing your rage on himself as long as he initiates first. Feels hurt if it's hate on sight cause you're so close, why are you mad at him 🥲

Put out if you appear sober despite drinking more than him. Expect pouting.

Blackouts will be very thrown by his description of what went down cause it never sounds right for some reason. Lightly fucks with you.

Sleepy drunks get soft cuddles, mostly cause he's warm and weak to hugs if you look pathetic enough.

Thatch

He's pretty close to the life of the party so he's happy to have a happy drunk alongside him. Goading you into shenanigans and being goaded in return, it's a blast and he's a good sport about it.

Weeping throws him off as he starts to switch into 'party Dad' mode, gently giving you water instead as you cry your heart out. He feels bad getting you to drink, though less so if it's silly things making you cry, it's pretty clear you're really in your feelings when you're drunk. Plenty of hugs and encouragement while he listens to your woes. Hugs you first thing when you wake up.

Angry drunks amuse him and he enjoys teasing you into tripping over yourself or doing stupid shit out of pride. Careful not to go too far, he still likes to toe the line occasionally. He likes knowing you're ready to throw down if he suggests it though. Could come in handy later.

Affectionate drunks are his favorite because he enjoys the ego boost that comes with hogging the attention. A lot of goading and fishing for compliments until he's glowing for reasons separate from the booze. Pouts when someone else steals your attention. He just wants to be your favorite. Knocks out the lights of whoever tries some shit while you're all too willing to hug random strangers.

You never have to worry if you blackout cause he'll make sure you're safe and don't do anything too crazy. It's pretty reassuring but occasionally he tries to mess with you with fake stories.

If you're a sleepy drunk he puts you to bed, lol. Depending on how far along the party is, you can probably make him cuddle you. He doesn't want to miss the whole thing but feels bad you didn't get to have a fun time cause the booze makes you too tired. And he likes the affection, there's no denying it.

[welcome-to-fernweh]

Origin of My Fantasy World Creation

Thought I should Copy+Paste this from the Discord I’m in onto here since I want to post more about Fernweh on here but lack the know-how to do it without pictures and anything really solid.

So I’ve had this fantasy world since 7th grade, starting as an assignment by the teacher to make a a map that included a list of geological features and at least one civilization. I checked everything off the list, and the Civilization was of sapient, elemental cats, very similar to “Warriors Cats” but without the magic. The gods of the lands were a variety of dragons. The elements were of Earth, Wind, Fire, and Water. Each elemental cat, named “licheven,” lived in their respective element society, with a fifth separate one being of Electricity because they just thought they were special. The dragon gods were just the western body types at first based on the ‘dragon creation’ thing from “Battle of Giants: Dragons.” The relationship between the gods and cats were of loyal worshippers that relied on each other, needing the other to survive.

The first change came with the gods, going from all being western to: Earth= Drake, Wind= Amphithere, Fire= Dragon, and Water= Lóng. Then eventually came additional gods of: Electricity= Wyvern, Lava= Lindwyrm, Ice= Knucker, and Nature= Dino-shaped.

Change cane to the Civilization from all being elemental cats to elemental chimeric cats: Earth= Saber cats, Wind= Ferrets and kin, Fire= Big Cats, and Water= Small Cats. That eventually changed to elemental chimeric creatures: Earth= Snake-bugs, Wind= Bird-rodents, Fire= Ungulate-cats, and Water= Fish-dogs.

I reeeaaally liked, and still like, these ideas, very unique, but I found some issues: Firstly, I was quickly running out of animal types to base the fantasy wild animals on. Secondly, I’m very picky with how I like dragons portrayed: I’m not a fans of dragons as these rare creatures of myth, but also not as a common people with plentiful civilizations. Thirdly, I wanted the sapient/“human” civilizations to be less weird and fantastical and more “normal” in comparison to the wildlife so as to make the wildlife give off that feeling of weird and fantastical, very much like in fantasy media you have normal humans and the fantasy wild. What I had was fantasy “humans” and fantasy wilds, which just became normal “humans” and normals wilds (“When everyone’s ‘super,’ no one will be [‘super��]” - Syndrome, “Incredibles”) which is not the feeling I wanted.

I realized I wanted to use/reference a lot of actual mythical creatures, so I started figuring out what humanoid-animal creatures I wanted to use for the Civilizations, each with an elemental theme. This, eventually, came to be as: Earth= Minotaurs, Wind= Sirens, Fire= Sphinxes, and Water= Merfolk, and Electricity= Harpies, Lava/Metal= Kaftars, Ice= Selkies, and Nature= Fauns. I also wanted Nagas, but couldn’t figure out where to put them at this time. Additionally, at some point, I was really getting interested in Chinese Dragons/Lóngs, probably because of their more magical aura in comparison to their Occidental counterparts, and their respective culture’s elemental grouping: Water, Metal, Earth, Wood, and Fire. I HEAVILY researched them like an FBI agent, and I finally had the “Yesss!” moment. Now the question is: How do you combine the Greek Elements with the Chinese Elements? Easy. You do the Greek ones when referring to the actual, physical elements themselves, and the Chinese ones when referencing their “vibe” or “energy,” which is exactly the difference between the two (the Chinese elements are only aspects of the entire Wuxing philosophy, which includes many other aspects, including mental states, senses, cardinal directions, geography, patterns, animals, etc).

The last change, which is currently going on, is straying away from the actual mythical creatures to something I make myself. For example, instead of a “Sphinx,” it would be, “Panthera People” in their language, or instead of “Faun,” it would be, “Goat Folk,” in their language. Same thing with “Unicorns,” “Ruhks,” “Phoenixes,” “Kitsunes,” etc.

Now, for the dragon gods (the Drakones), they are Oriental based. For other dragons, like the Occidental dragons, knuckers, wyverns, lindwyrms, etc they would be wild or domestic animals with varying rarities and powers. I also plan on putting the previous versions of the Civilizations back into the world, but their roles would be different.

Currently I have a bunch of pieces and parts of varying info about the world, but I need history to tie everything together, and I have been creating, scrapping, and re-creating the creation of the world for months now and I’m barely getting anything that feels “right.” I know how things would play out VERY generally, but the details are where I’m struggling (“How did Day/Night come to be?” “How are the mountains made?” “Who made the climates?” etc). However, I want all of it to be similar to reality but with a magical twist. For example: We have the Solar System. We know how it was made. The sun came first, then the planets came from space stuff orbiting and shaping around it. Fernweh also has a Solar System (may call it something different). The Great Celestial Dualities (yin and yang), who are always born together from the Empyrean (the greater nebula they live within) with the existence to create. They create the Five Planets, each for every “state of existence” (wuxing): Water, Metal, Earth, Wood, and Fire. The Yang creates Sol (the sun) to, “cast heavenly light upon the System, making it function.” Everything needs to be refined to be the best it is, so the Dualities are always working together to refine their celestial bodies, and all the waste was taken out and placed on the side. This “trash ball” became the planet “Fernweh.” Because all the “elements” were present in this planet and left alone to balance itself out naturally, it eventually sprouted life, which is another numerous step process that I am trying to figure out, starting with the first three Predominant Sovereigns of Sky, Earth, and Ocean.

I am absorbing every bit of lore of interesting myths in reality, fictional lore in media, and real cultural philosophies in fictional media (*cough*FromSoftware*cough*).

And that’s how I’m starting this. I have been listening to Joel Vinesauce playing Buckshot Roulette this entire time instead of taking a shower and playing Elden Ring.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 8: She's The Salt Of The Earth And She's Dangerous]

A/N: Be sure to vote in the poll pinned to the top of my blog AFTER you finish reading!!! 🥰

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon™️, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes, RIP Jace (again).

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “She's A Rebel” by Green Day.

Word count: 7.4k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

“I’m sorry if I was a creep when we first met,” Aegon says. He’s been oddly philosophical since he was burned. “I hadn’t seen a hot single chick in a while, and I wanted to fuck you.”

Cregan siphoned just enough gas from a decrepit Chrysler Sebring in Merna to take the Tahoe two and a half hours west to Little Thunder Bay Campground on the shores of Lake McConaughy, a manmade reservoir and New Deal project from the 1930s. You glance over at Aegon dubiously, amused. “Do I count as hot?”

“Yeah, Chippendales, you’re hot. In like a…you live in a cabin and knit sweaters by a crackling fireplace kind of way.”

You smile. “So you got over that.”

“Oh no, I still want to fuck you. Now I just know you better, so I wouldn’t want to offend you by being obnoxious about it.”

“That’s sweet, I guess. I appreciate your discretion.”

“No problem. If you ever decide you want to take a ride on a less distinguished Targaryen brother, let me know.”

The two of you are fishing from a boat launch, dry splintering planks of wood, opaque rippling water, soft wind and bright sunshine from an aquamarine, cloudless sky. Cregan found the fishing poles in the abandoned RV you’ve moved into, a Winnebago Spirit with one of those stick figure family decals on the back window, Mom, Dad, four lovely children and a dog too, all of whom are perhaps alive but more likely dead and in any case nowhere to be found here in this tranquil corner of western Nebraska, 150 miles from the Wyoming border. Helaena digs worms from the earth, then Rhaena slices them into wriggling segments with a hunting knife and brings them to you and Aegon to be impaled on barbed hooks. Aemond, Rio, Daeron, Luke, and Cregan are swimming about twenty yards down the beach, soaked boxer shorts and nothing else, splashing each other and scrubbing the grime off their skin from a morning spent gathering wood for the firepit and the grill; Ice is paddling joyfully alongside them. Baela floats on her back and peers vacantly up into the vast blue nothingness. Aegon is not permitted in the water, as his leg is an open wound beneath his bandages. You ask him as you recast your fishing line: “Why are you like this?”

“Like what?”

You shrug, smirking guiltily. You thought it was obvious.

Aegon throws back his head and cackles, slow and lazy. “Oh, I get it. A loser.”

“I didn’t say loser.”

“You thought loser.”

“I implied loser.”

“It’s alright. I’ve been called worse things by people I admire much less.” He contemplates his answer as he gazes down into the water, sluggish stoned reverie. Aemond must be almost out of morphine by now. At last Aegon says: “I think the first thing I ever learned was that no matter how hard I tried, no one was ever going to love me. Not in a normal kind of way, Disney movie love, Christmas rom-com love. So I stopped trying. Mother wanted me to play piano, so I bombed the recital. Father wanted me to be a doctor or a lawyer, so I skipped class, went golfing and yachting, didn’t even bother to pay someone to write halfway decent essays for me. If they couldn’t love me unconditionally, I wasn’t interested in meeting their conditions.” Then he chuckles, the breeze combing through his hair, ninety degrees and only getting hotter. “I refused to work. All you’ve ever done is work. You must hate me.”

“No, I get it.” You reel in your line; a fish has stolen the worm from your hook, tiny clandestine nibbles. You impale a slimy new victim and recast. “No one wants to be used.”

“Yeah. Exactly. I wasn’t going to spend my life doing shit I didn’t want to do so my parents could brag about me to their insufferable friends and absolve themselves of their mistakes. Mother married a man who didn’t give a fuck about her, Father ignored us all. Me being a success story would have given them the impression they did something right. I couldn’t have that.”

So Aemond had to be the success story instead. You glance down the beach at where he is bursting through the water and slicking back his dripping hair from his face, showing Luke a bone he found in the muddy silt of Lake McConaughy, hopefully not human.

Aegon follows your eyeline. “Aemond went the other way, I guess. Always so pathetically desperate for their approval. Scrabbling for crumbs of it like a rat. That’s what the thing with Alys was all about, it’s the only explanation I have. Older woman, surrogate mother, comforting but chilly, fawning but forbidden, always keeping him at an arm’s length and rewarding his tricks with treats.” He smirks flirtatiously, then sees that he’s hurt you. “Oh, um, I mean…look, it wasn’t…it wasn’t a good thing, you know? He wasn’t happy. It was a seven-year-long psychotic episode, not a relationship.”

“You mentioned that Criston likes Aemond,” you say, pivoting. “The…what is he? A family friend, an assistant?”

“My mother’s personal security guard. And yeah, he cares about Aemond. He’s proud of him, he trust him, he thinks he’s more capable than any of the rest of us, and that’s probably true. It’s definitely true compared to me. But that doesn’t mean Criston always knows how to express it.”

You look out over the water, trying not to imagine Aemond touching Alys, this woman you hate without knowing her face. You wonder if he ever wishes you were more like her: older, clever, entrancing, masterful. “It must have been a strange way to grow up.”

“Cold,” Aegon says. “Hollow. Holidays, birthdays, vacations, everything. You go through the motions but something’s always missing. When you’re little, you think it’s your fault, and then eventually you realize that they’re going to be miserable whether you’re there or not. But you can get out if you’re willing to run far enough.” He scratches at his forearm, and your eyes catch fleetingly on the black ink of his tattoo: It’s not over ‘til you’re underground. You had told Rio something similar when you were stranded on that transmission tower in Catawissa, Pennsylvania. “This is fucked up, and I don’t mean that I don’t feel bad about what happened to Jace, and I get that millions of people have died agonizing deaths, and that all sucks, believe me, I know, but this…” He gestures vaguely, to the zombies and the desolation and the collapse of everything you’ve ever known. “It was kind of my Get Out Of Jail Free card. And in a weird way…sometimes I feel like I’ve been happier since the world ended than I ever was before.”

You smile. You know what he means. “Even if your leg gets infected and we have to saw it off without anesthesia like you’re a Civil War soldier?”

Aegon laughs and shakes his head, his hair flopping around. It’s almost long enough for him to have a man bun like Cregan’s if he wanted one “No, probably not. Also, what’s the Civil War?”

“Forget it.”

“No, now I want to know.”

“It’s kind of a long story.”

“Aemond said something interesting this morning while you were picking blackberries with our favorite Trump supporter,” Aegon tells you, salacious and sly, offering a tantalizing morsel he knows you’re powerless to refuse. He pauses and waits for you to admit it to yourself.

“Fine. Okay. What?”

“He said that when you and Cregan are standing next to each other, you look like you belong together.”

You groan, quite loudly. “I have zero interest in Cregan romantically. Literally zero. I don’t think he sees me that way either.”

Aegon shrugs. “The dating pool is awfully small nowadays, Banana Chip. Anyone who’s not a corpse or an immediate blood relative starts to look tasty.”

“So that’s why you like me.”

Aegon grins, teeth he shows often and easily, so unlike Aemond in every way. “No. I think I’d like you anywhere.” He tugs languidly on his fishing pole. “I want a new golf club.” He forgot his at the house in Broken Bow where Jace died.

“We’ll see.”

“I want new shoes too.” One of his Sperry Bahama sneakers was burned beyond repair and filled with shreds of his own singed flesh, scraps like soft bacon fused with the padding and insole. “And some polos.”

“I’m not a Big Lots.”

“Who the fuck shops at Big Lots?” Aegon’s fishing line jerks, and he yanks hard on the pole before reeling in his catch. Suspended at the end is a long green creature, yellowish spots and a villainous angular face. “That is one ugly bitch.”

“It’s a pike,” you say, and then when you grab it you observe that the misfortunate fish has the barb of the hook piercing not through its lip but one of its bulging, glassy eyes. “Oh my God!”

Aegon squeals, horrified. He offers no meaningful assistance. “That’s so gross, that’s so gross, what are we going to do?!”

“We have to, like, I don’t know, grab the back of the hook from inside its mouth and pull it out of the eyeball, I guess…?!”

“Yeah, awesome. Good luck with that.”

You reach tentatively into the pike’s gaping mouth. Its jaws snap shut, needlelike teeth stinging your wrist. “Ow!”

“Cregan!” Aegon bellows. “Cregan, help!”

Now the others are running to the boat launch to see what’s going on, Helaena and Rhaena from the shore, everyone else from the lake, Luke helping Baela wring the water from her sundress and Ice galloping alongside Cregan. He gets a look at the pike and guffaws, loud and rumbling.

“Poor little guy. That’s some bad luck he’s got.”

“Can you get the hook out?” you ask, eager to surrender the fish, which is still thrashing franticly and gnashing its teeth, mindless cold-blooded death throes.

“Of course I can.” Cregan plucks the pike from your grasp, shoves his massive hand into its mouth, and rips the hook out with one effortless maneuver. The pike is freed, but its eyeball remains speared on the hook. Then Cregan spies blood on your wrist. “You okay there, Miss Chips?”

“Oh yeah. I’m fine.”

“Freaking disgusting, man,” Aegon mutters; he and Rio are ogling the disembodied eyeball, complete with a frayed optic nerve like a tail, with identical, stunned revulsion.

You turn to smile up at Aemond, but he doesn’t notice you. He is staring at Cregan, his sole blue eye narrow and fixed and flat like still water.

~~~~~~~~~~

“The closest town is Ogallala,” Aegon says as he lays his map across the wooden picnic table. The rest of you are seated around him and picking flaky white meat from between the thin, fragile bones of the pike, which Cregan has gutted and cooked on the large metal grill that careless camping families once roasted marshmallows and hotdogs over. Helaena is at the edge of the table and writing in her spider notebook, elegant loops of cursive. Ice is lying on her belly and gnawing on a rabbit she killed for herself, its doomed black eyes gazing up at you.

“That has to be what, ten miles south?” Rio says apprehensively.

Aegon licks grease from his fingers. “Yup. A little more, probably.”

“What about Lemoyne?” Daeron says, pointing. “Or Keystone, or even Belmar? They’re all closer.”

“See how small the names are written?” Aegon tells him. “That means they’re not actual communities. They’re like a few stop signs and maybe a Dollar General and that’s it.”

“I love Dollar General,” Cregan says, nostalgic. “Man, do y’all remember Chicken in a Biskit? I used to park myself in front of the tv and eat boxes and boxes—”

“It has to be Ogallala,” Aemond insists. “We need pharmacies and grocery stores and cars to siphon gas from, we need a real town.”

Rhaena chews her lower lip anxiously. “The Tahoe is empty. We have maybe half a gallon left and that’s it. Just enough to get down to Ogallala if we’re lucky, but not back.”

“So we’ll drive until it dies and then we’ll walk. Cregan has a gas can in the back, if we find fuel we can bring some back to the Tahoe and continue from there.”

“Walk, huh?” Aegon says, looking down at his bandaged left leg, which he can’t put any weight on. He gets around by hopping, leaning against other people (oftentimes against their will), and being carried by Rio.

“Well, you’re not going,” Aemond tells him. “And Baela isn’t either.”

Baela, gazing blankly down at the map, says nothing. A brown striped snake darts through the grass only a few feet from the picnic table, moving swiftly towards the lake, and there are alarmed gasps and yelps.

“Northern water snake,” Helaena says, glancing up from her notebook. “Not venomous.”

“Good,” Rhaena replies with a shudder.

Luke says fearfully as he reads the map: “Aemond, last time we went into a town that big was Broken Bow, and…Jace…the farmhouse…”

Aemond slams his fists down on the table. “We have to, okay? We need food and water. We need bullets. I need more pain meds and bandages for Aegon, I need antiseptic and Neosporin, and Vaseline for when he’s healing, and supplies for when Baela goes into labor too, since I’ve had to use everything I had saved.”

“We need pads and tampons too,” Helaena says as she examines the black-ink inventory in her notebook. “And Advil, lip balm, bars of soap, hair ties, and socks and underwear. And that green jelly aloe vera stuff for Aegon’s sunburn.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Aemond agrees. “We need a lot of things. And we have to refuel so we can keep moving west.”

“We could stay here,” Baela says, so softly that at first you aren’t sure if you heard her right.

“What, Baela?” Rhaena asks gently.

“I want to stay here.” Baela is more resolute now. “I want to have the baby here.”

Nobody knows how to respond. Rio gives you a troubled glance. You nod in agreement, so subtly you doubt anyone else notices. Not an option.

Aemond is calm but unwavering. “Baela, I’m sorry, but that’s not possible.”

She pleads her case. “I like the Winnebago. I like the lake. I’m comfortable here, and we’re out in the middle of nowhere, and I…I think we could make this our home for a while, now that we’ve found someplace like this. Someplace quiet and safe.”

“We’re not safe here, Baela,” Aemond says. “It feels like we’re safe, but we’re not. We aren’t a big enough group to reliably be able to defend ourselves. We don’t have adequate supplies. We have a lake to our backs, sure, but the rest of the shoreline is open for anybody to walk right into, and our visibility is blocked by trees. No one has stumbled across us yet, but that doesn’t mean they won’t. And if they do we’re extremely vulnerable. But when we get to the west coast, we’ll be home.”

“I’m tired of running. I’m tired of being afraid.”

“I understand. I am too.”

“It’s different,” Baela says, abruptly fierce. “You don’t know what this feels like. None of you do. I’ve never given up and I’ve never asked to be taken care of, I’ve always been the strong one, but I’m so goddamn tired, and I want to have my baby here, and I…I…” Her large dark eyes are glistening, haunted. “Every time we’re driving I feel like I see him sitting next to me, or standing out in the middle of the road, and then I have to remember what happened all over again, and…I just…I don’t want to do this anymore.”

Rhaena takes Baela’s hands in her own, skims her thumbs across Baela’s knuckles; Luke rubs her back reassuringly. The rest of you can only offer silent, pitying looks. There are no easy answers, no fortuitous gold strikes, no shortcuts. The only way out is through.

“Whatever you guys decide, I’m leaving either way,” Rio says. “Sophie’s waiting for me in Oregon. I can’t just hang out in Nebraska forever. I’ll walk if I have to.”

“It’s over a thousand miles,” Aegon tells him.

“Doesn’t matter, man. I gotta do it.”

You add: “Obviously, I’d have to go with Rio.”

Both Aemond and Aegon appear startled. “We’ll be on the road again soon,” Aemond promises. “Tomorrow, if we can find gas in Ogallala.”

“I’m not going,” Baela whispers.

“We have to, Baela,” Rhaena implores. “It’ll be alright. We’ll take care of you, and the baby too when the time comes.”

Baela stands, strides to the Winnebago, disappears inside and slams the door behind her.

“She’ll be okay,” Rhaena tells the rest of you. “She’s…you know, she’s shaken up. She’s not thinking clearly. But she’ll realize this was the right decision. The only decision, really.”

“It’s best if we can get set up somewhere permanent before she goes into labor,” Aemond says, as if he’s defending himself. “Traveling with a baby…Baela recovering…it would be very dangerous for all of us.”

“Luke and I are thinking the same things, Aemond. We agree with you.”

He gives Rhaena an appreciative smile, very small but sincere. Then he turns to Daeron. “Baela and Aegon will have to wait here when I go south to Ogallala, since they can’t walk in the event the Tahoe runs out of gas. You’re going to stay behind to protect them.”

“Got it,” Daeron says soberly. All the bullets are gone; his compound bow, fed with arrows fashioned from sticks, is the best weapon you have left. Cregan has his axe, Rio still prefers to bash skulls with the butt of his Remington shotgun, everyone else must make do with hunting knives from that cellar back in Pennsylvania and kayak paddles found here at Lake McConaughy.

Aemond looks around the table. “I’ll need Rio, Cregan, and Luke.”

“And our beloved furball Blue Raspberry Icee,” Aegon says, smirking. “To sniff out any zombies.”

“Yes. Ice too.”

“What about me?” you say, staring incredulously at Aemond.

“Not you. You’re staying here in the RV.”

“If you and Rio are going, I’m going.”

“No, you’re not,” Aemond says. “You’re the best shot, and we all agree about that, but we’re fresh out of bullets. You therefore have no advantage tactically.”

“What’s Luke’s advantage?”

There are awkward chuckles. Aemond leaves the picnic table and gestures for you to follow him. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Why?”

Aemond doesn’t answer; he keeps walking until he’s hidden amongst a small grove of Kentucky coffeetrees, oval emerald leaves and umber seed pods that hang from branches, reminding you of skate egg cases—what some people call mermaid’s purses—you once found washed up on the beach outside Djibouti City. Rio teases you: “Ohhh, you’re in troubleee…”

You swat him on the back of the head; his hair is getting long too, dark curls that flutter in the breeze that comes in off the lake, hot and humid, the infinite wildness of July. “If I’m not going, you have to swear that you’ll—”

“I got it, I got it,” Rio says, blasé and jolly. “I’ll look underneath things, I’ll look on top of things, I’ll look everywhere. Okay?”

Aegon kicks him with his good foot. “Get me a golf club.”

“I’m not a Dick’s!”

“Dicks?! Who brought up dicks, you sicko…?!”

You go after Aemond and meet him in the shade, an island of twilight in the omnipotent golden morning. He pushes you against one of the Kentucky coffeetrees—rough bark to your back, prodding you through your t-shirt—and nuzzles your throat as he presses his hips to yours, blissful clandestine surrender as your knees weaken and you gaze dizzily up into the canopy of leaves.

You sigh: “This is not an explanation. This is a distraction. A very enjoyable one, but a distraction nonetheless.”

“Daeron is good with a bow, but he’s young,” Aemond murmurs. “I need you to help him protect the others.”

“You’ve managed to make this sound like a promotion.”

“And,” Aemond continues. “When things get risky and chaotic, and I’m trying to make sure everyone is safe…I find you being around to be…distracting.”

“Rio doesn’t think I’m a distraction.”

He chuckles, avoidant. “That’s not an equivalent situation.”

“I get that Luke has binoculars, but I am also perfectly capable of using binoculars, and I could borrow his and he could stay here. I really don’t think he’d mind being benched, he’d probably prefer it—”

“I always ask you to stay near Rio, and you never do, and then I have to worry about you getting lost or bitten or imperiled in any one of a million other ways.”

“Because it’s not that simple! Rio gets it, I have to be able to improvise—”

Suddenly, Aemond pulls away and asks: “Do you trust me?”

You are bewildered. “What?”

“Because I could understand if you don’t.”

You search his scarred face; he has that look like he’s trying not to reveal too much of himself, to show that he’s nervous or vulnerable or afraid. You touch your palm to his ravaged cheek, your voice soft. “I trust you, Aemond.”

He seems relived. “Good. Then please stay here.”

“You’ll watch out for Rio?” you say threateningly.

“Of course.”

“And yourself too.”

He grins, those small secretive teeth he loves to hide. “That’s the plan.”

“And you’ll check under things and on top of things, and you’ll remember what I said about the racks? When you go into stores and you’re rummaging through—?”

Aemond kisses you, warm and slow and kind, the curve of his lips pleased and mischievous. “It’s flattering that you’re so concerned.”

“And don’t forget the pads and tampons.”

His scarred eyebrow rises half an inch. “Oh?”

“I’m already having pre-period cramps. I’ll need supplies in a few days.”

“You’ll have them. Don’t fear.” Then he studies you, concerned, his brow furrowing and his palm testing your cheek and forehead. “You feeling okay? You’re sure that’s all it is?”

“Oh yeah, totally. It’s very routine at this point, I’ve had a decade to get accustomed.”

“Alright. If there’s anything else you think of before we head out, I’ll add it to the list.” He takes your hand and examines the shallow scratches left on your wrist by the needlelike teeth of the pike. “Let me clean and wrap that up for you. I think I have just enough bandages left.”

“Your worst nightmare came true,” you joke. “I was bitten after all.”

Aemond doesn’t laugh, doesn’t even smile.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s long after nightfall and you and Aegon are keeping watch just outside the Winnebago Spirit, slumped in folding camping chairs people once told their legends from: scary stories, workplace grievances, familial mythology. In the firepit, logs split and pop, and embers glow a bloody red. You’re waiting for the Tahoe to return and trying not to think about the possibility it might not.

“These suck,” Aegon says, garbled by a mouthful of Cheddar Whales, grimacing at the bright blue box. “Why do you and Rio eat these? They’re like…dodgy Goldfish.”

“Are you kidding?! They’re way better than Goldfish! Goldfish don’t taste like anything.”

“And Cheddar Whales taste like salty cardboard. The American Dream.” Aegon passes the box back to you. “They better come back with some SpaghettiOs or Rice-A-Roni or something. I can’t survive on Cregan’s overcooked fish.” He lights a Marlboro Gold cigarette by sticking it into the fire and takes a deep drag, looking up at the stars. Aemond gave him the last of the morphine before he left, and Aegon is floating on a feathery, narcotic cloud.

You say after at last working up the nerve: “So you’re a slut, right?”

He snickers, firelight dancing on his sunburned face. “Slut, loser, you’ve got me all figured out.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yeah, I guess I’m a slut. Why?”

“Have you ever had trouble…” Your hands flail around aimlessly; it’s so awkward to say out loud. “You know…getting it in?”

“No, not really. But I’m hung like a hamster.” He looks over at you, curious shimmering stoned blue eyes. “Technical difficulties, Chip And Dip? Not enough dipping going on?”

“Forget it. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“You’re probably just nervous. Aemond’s a doctor, he’d be able to tell if you had something wonky down there, like those chicks who are born without a vagina. Or with two vaginas. Jesus Christ, can you imagine the possibilities? Why can’t I meet someone like that?”

You stare into the fire, discouraged. “I’m going to ruin everything.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that. Aemond will assume it’s his fault. He thinks everything is his fault.”

Through the darkness, you spot headlights bobbing as the Tahoe approaches on bumpy dirt roads. “Oh, thank God. They’re back.”

“About time. If Rio didn’t find me a new golf club, I’m going to drown him in the lake.”

“He could break you in half.”

“But he wouldn’t.”

“No.”

“Because he likes me too much.”

“Right.”

“Maybe you like me too,” Aegon says as he exhales smoke, his glazed eyes listing to you, his grin crooked and drowsy. “Just a little bit.”

You smile reluctantly. “I might.”

“Cool.” He beams up at the stars, and then says again: “Cool.”

As the massive SUV rolls to a halt, the headlights cascading over you and so bright they’re nearly blinding, you notice the red letters on the grill: GMC. “That’s not the Tahoe,” you say, panicked.

“What? Then who is it?”

“I don’t know.” You stand up, instinctively reaching for one of your M9s; but they’re both empty. All the guns are. Your hand drops to your side.

Aegon, unable to rise on his own, remains in his chair and grips the armrests tightly. He whispers: “Should we go inside…?!”

“They’ve already seen us. But they don’t know who’s in the RV.” Rhaena, Baela, Helaena. With a shiver like a bolt of cold lightning, you recall what Aemond said at the bowling alley back in Shenandoah, Ohio: I don’t want them to know we have women with us.

The GMC Yukon is still running when two men step out, the headlights disorientingly bright. They are both armed, you see immediately, pistols that you’d guess are Colts. Aegon’s hand juts out and closes around your forearm as the strangers approach. They are both young, maybe twenty, and wearing jeans, camo jackets, and baseball hats like they’re going hunting. They stand in the yellow-white glow of the headlights as they watch you.

“Hi,” you say congenially, forcing a smile.

The men glance at each other, then one greets you with a nod. “Howdy.”

“We’re set up here,” you say. “But it’s a big campground. You’re welcome to any of the other spots.”

The man who spoke earlier chuckles and scratches at his short beard. You steal a glimpse back at Aegon: his eyes are huge and horrified.

“It’s real quiet on the lake,” you continue. “We haven’t had any problems, and we’ve been here a few days. It’s a good place. We’re happy to share it. We don’t…” You deliberate what words to use. “We aren’t interested in making trouble. We just want to be left alone.”

The man replies: “I camped here every single summer growing up, learned to fish here, swam in the water with my cousins, brought my girlfriends here to fuck. And now you’re inviting me to stay? You’re not from here. I can tell by your accent. This is my backyard. You’re the one who should be asking for permission.”

Aegon is making a low, whimpering sound; his fingernails are digging into the defenseless, downy underside of your forearm. “We don’t have anything of value,” you say, your voice trembling.

“Uh huh.” The stranger’s gaze flicks to the Winnebago.

“We found it. There’s no gas, no keys. Two of the tires are flat. It’s just shelter.”

“Who else is in the RV?”

“No one.”

The second man is squinting at Aegon. “Is he a cripple?”

“He was burned. That’s why we’re resting here for a while, so he can heal.”

The first man points to the bandage on your wrist. “Did you try to kill yourself? My neighbor did that when her kid got eaten. Slit her veins open out in the middle of the street. Bad scene.”

“I got mauled by a fish,” you reply numbly.

He laughs, a slow, rolling, mocking sort of sound, not taking his eyes off you. Then they drop to the Beretta M9s you have holstered at your waist. “Are those loaded?”

“Yes.”

He signals to the nearest Kentucky coffeetree. “Prove it. Shoot that tree.” You stare at its trunk, stark in the headlights of the strangers’ SUV. Long seconds tick by, the only sound the idling of the engine and the crackling of the firepit. “You can’t,” the man says, grinning. “Because you’re out of bullets. But I’m not.”

He raises his pistol and fires, a thunderclap, a mechanical roar. A small circular wound appears in the tree. Aegon shrieks and tries to stand; he tumbles to the earth when the raw, weeping flesh beneath his bandages betrays him. The RV door flies open and Daeron is the first one out, clutching his compound bow but still blinking his way out of the dreams he was jolted from. He won’t be able to nock one of his makeshift arrows before they shoot him.

“What the hell’s going on—?!”

“Drop it!” the stranger shouts, and both he and his companion aim their pistols at Daeron. He freezes. Baela, Rhaena, and Helaena exit the RV and begin screaming, clinging to each other.

“Do what they ask,” you tell Daeron, trying to remain calm. With great hesitancy, he sets his bow on the earth and puts his empty palms in the air. There are hunting knives inside the RV, you think. Where did we store them? In a drawer, in a cabinet?

The men are now herding you all into the RV, jabbing the barrels of their pistols against your backs and bellies. “Let’s go, everybody in,” the first one says. The second man hooks an arm forcefully under one of Aegon’s and drags him through the threshold, Aegon yowling as his burned leg smacks against the doorframe. The second man forces Aegon and Daeron to kneel on the floor at the front of the RV near the driver’s seat; the other one arranges the women at gunpoint, instructing you to squeeze together to sit in a row on the floral couch. Helaena—farthest from you and closest to the kitchenette booth—is sobbing and covering her ears. Rhaena appears to be hyperventilating. Baela’s head is held high, her face furious and defiant.

Aemond, Rio, Cregan, please come back…

“Now this is interesting,” the first man is saying to his friend. He uses his pistol to indicate to each of you. “We’ve got G.I. Jane, this delicate little sweetheart, a pregnant lady, and Cinderella. Where should we begin…?”

You glance at Rhaena, catch her wide frenzied eyes, then look meaningfully at the drawers across the aisle near the kitchenette stove and sink. Knife? you mouth.

It takes her a moment to realize what you mean, then she inclines her head, an elusive nod. She remembers where they are, where they were stored once she cleaned them this afternoon in the lake water. That’s good; but in order for Rhaena to grab a large serrated hunting knife, the men will need to be distracted.

“There’s a bed in the back,” the second man is saying. “I can see it from here, down the hallway…”

Your gaze is darting around the Winnebago. Aegon is yelling something; the second man pistol-whips him, fortunately not hard enough to fracture his skull.

“Don’t worry,” the first man tells Aegon, background noise you try to ignore as you search for an opportunity. “You’ll get to watch…”

Helaena is trying to get your attention, staring at you with her wide, gleaming blue eyes. You furrow your brow at her, not understanding…and then you see the burlap strap she’s looped around her wrist. Her messenger bag must be in the kitchenette booth beside her. And as you watch, and only for a second, she arranges her fingers in the shape of a gun.

The Ruger, you realize, amazed, that tiny revolver she was always so repelled by. Helaena never used it, but she still has it. And it’s loaded.

Baela is arguing with the men, words you tune out. Helaena points to you, but you shake your head. There’s no way for her to get the Ruger to you without them seeing. You mouth to Helaena, your face severe: You have to do it. Then you look to the first man, presently waving his pistol in Baela’s face.

“I’d like to go first,” you say casually, and all the noise stops.

“No, no, no, I’ll do it,” Aegon tells the men. “You want a blowjob? You want to fuck me in the ass? I’m down. I’m not scared of no dick. I experimented in college.”

Both strangers burst into hysterical laughter. “That’s a mighty generous offer,” the second one says, swiping a tear from his eye. “But that’s not the team we’re on, is it, Wesley?”

The first man, Wesley, is smiling down at you. His gaze sweeps over your body, from your bare feet to your eyes, calm and level. “Why do you want to go first, darling?”

Shoot him, Helaena. Shoot him right now. “I’ve never done it before. I figure I should give it a try before it’s too late.”

Helaena whips the Ruger out of her burlap messenger bag and opens fire. She winces each time it goes off, and her aim is terrible; bullets pierce the ceiling and the walls, striking nowhere near Wesley or his accomplice, but their panicked ducking buys valuable seconds. Daeron and Aegon tackle the man closest to them and wrestle the pistol from his hands. Aegon presses the barrel to his skull, pulls the trigger, kills him instantly. Rhaena flies to one of the drawers and yanks out a hunting knife ten inches long. She buries it in Wesley’s throat, the blade disappearing until the hilt rests on his collarbone. When she rips it free, scarlet blood jets from his severed carotid artery, spraying you, soaking you. Blood is in your eyes and nostrils, hot coppery carnage; when you scream, you can taste it in your mouth.

People are reaching for you and telling you to calm down, that they’ll help you, but you can’t wait. You use your t-shirt to mop as much of the blood as you can from your face and bolt through the door of the RV, running towards the lake. You drop to your knees on the sand and splash yourself, cool moonlit rivulets that wash the blood away. You’re trembling, you’re crying, and when somebody grabs you by the arm you scream and strike out at them, clawing like an animal.

“It’s me,” Aemond says, and only then do you get a good look at him, blood and lake water beading on your eyelashes. He’s wiping blood off your face with his palms, he’s inspecting you for fresh wounds. “Don’t fight, it’s me, it’s me, whose blood is this, what happened—?!”

“You were right,” Baela says to Aemond from where she stands on the sand, a hand resting on her belly. Drifting from the RV are the voices of the others who have just returned: Rio, Cregan, Luke. “We’re not safe here.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The next night, rain falls as you lie entangled with Aemond in the attic bedroom of a ranch house in Red Desert, Wyoming, flashing lightning and flickering candles illuminating bare skin. You are kissing feverishly, your hands all over each other, and Aemond is pushing himself into you; or, rather, he is trying to. There is pain, and you can feel your body turning treasonous, rejecting him, shrinking away from him, fearing that you’ll never be able to satisfy him.

No, no no no…

His voice is hushed and gentle as his lips brush your ear. “Hey, you’re shaking, why are you shaking?”

“I’m okay, I’m fine, keep going.” And then, when he stops: “No, Aemond, don’t—”

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You have to. I’ll be okay, I promise.”

Instead, he lies down beside you and turns your face to his, fingerprints on the slope of your jaw. He asks again, more firmly: “Why are you shaking?”

All the walls and arches of you collapse, stones tumbling to crack against the earth. You are suddenly fighting tears. Your words come out in a whisper. “I want this to be real.”

He studies your face, distressed. “What are you talking about?”

“I don’t want to ruin it. I don’t want to lose you. I never thought I’d have something like this and now I’m so afraid of fucking it up.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s what Jace thought.”

Aemond pulls you against his chest and holds you as you sink through him into dark, cold, watery dreams, and doesn’t make any more promises he can’t keep.

~~~~~~~~~~

“What time is it on the East Coast right now?” you ask Rio. It’s May and almost a hundred degrees every day in Djibouti City—arid, rainless, sun glare and dust that sting your eyes—so the Navy has you building at night when they won’t have to deal with quite so many Seabees dropping over from heatstroke. Outside the day is turning to a soft lavender dusk and your shift will begin soon. You are dressed—sand-colored t-shirt, camo pants, work boots—and toweling off your hair, still wet from the shower.

Rio is sprawled across the floor of your room, taking up almost all of it; housing at Camp Lemonnier consists of converted shipping containers, each outfitted with its own perpetually whirring air conditioning unit. He is reading Fifty Shades Of Grey. “Like seven hours behind here, so early afternoon, I guess.” Then he looks up at you, suspicious. “Why?”

“I should probably call.”

“Should you really?”

“I want to. I’ll feel guilty if I don’t.”

Rio shakes his head and returns his attention to his reading material. “I’m not going to tell you what to do.”

“You love telling me what to do.”

“I wish you loved listening.” He flips a page, puzzled. “Why the fuck does Sophie like this book so much…?”

You open Facebook Messenger on your phone and make a call. The wifi isn’t good for videos, but old-fashioned audio calls usually work okay. There is an answer on the fourth ring.

“Yeah?” she says, and you can hear the entire house when she turns on speakerphone: the squeaking of the recliner, the droning of a talk show, indistinct speech and chuckling from other people, glass—cups, bottles, baking dishes, ashtrays—clinking sharply.

“Hi, Mama! Happy Mother’s Day!”

“Aw, ain’t you sweet to call.” And you are testing her voice like water from a tap, icy cold, hot enough to scald. At the moment, Mama sounds perfectly lukewarm. “I didn’t count on hearing from you. I know how busy you are.”

That’s a landmine that you step gingerly around. “We definitely have a lot going on here, and there’s the time difference and everything…but I wanted to make sure to say hi, even if I can’t talk for long. What are you up to today?”

“Oh, nothing much.” You hear her smoking: breathe in, breathe out, a cunning sort of pause as she decides how to proceed. Of course there were no extravagant festivities planned. Nothing ever felt like a real holiday at home: Mama getting sloshed and burning the turkey on Thanksgiving, Christmas presents that had to be returned for grocery and gas money, fistfights and doors ripped off hinges on New Year’s Eve. You had decided years ago that Hallmark channel magic was pure fiction…but sometimes you get glimpses of it now. Thanksgiving dinner in some unceremonious chow hall with Rio and your other friends feels more like a holiday than anything else you’ve ever known. “You still in Africa?”

“It’s Djibouti, Mama, I told you. It’s on the Horn. Across the sea is Yemen and Saudi Arabia.”

“Why can’t they put y’all to work in your own goddamn country?”

“Well, we do that too sometimes.” You stall, listening to her smoking. Rio glances up at you from where he’s still reading on the floor. “They have some incredible beaches here. Yesterday morning we went down to the water and there were all these cute kids playing, and they only spoke French but Rio showed them how to play tic-tac-toe by drawing a board in the sand—”

“I like the beach,” she says, and you know you’ve made a mistake. “You remember that?”

Deflated now: “Yeah, Mama. I remember. Are the boys going to take you to Virginia Beach this summer?”

She scoffs. “We’ll see, but I doubt it. It’s expensive, girl.”

You sigh deeply. Rio was right. I shouldn’t have called. “We talked about this. I need to be saving up to get my own house one day, and my own car, and all those things I’ll need to have a life when I get out of the Navy—”

“And what about my house?!” Mama cries, damn near wails. “I’m gonna lose it! I can’t make the payments!”

You reply calmly: “Mama, that’s your house. That’s your business. And you’ve got more than one kid still living at home long after they’ve turned eighteen, so they need to be the people you’re asking to help, not me.”

“You’re gonna let your Mama be homeless? Is that what you called to tell me on Mother’s Day? What the hell kind of daughter are you?”

“I got out!” you shout into the phone, and Rio is scrambling off the floor to rush to you. “I’m learning things and I’m making money and I’m building schools and hospitals on the other side of the fucking planet, and you can’t be proud of me because you think it means you’ve failed, but the truth is that you could have gotten out too! All of you could have! But you didn’t, it was me, it was just me, and now you hate me for it!”

“You need to come home now,” Mama says. “You gotta take care of me, take care of your Mama. You only got one and she needs you, so you gotta heed me. That’s what’s right.”

“I am not going to spend the rest of my life watching you get wasted in that filthy house, and I’d work where, at the Dollar General? At Arby’s? And get knocked up by the first guy who shows any interest?”

“You’re giving me heart palpitations. I’m gonna have to go to the emergency room and it’s all your fault.”

Rio is whispering into your other ear, one of his massive palms resting on the back of your neck: “Just hang up. It’s not worth it. You can hang up, just hang up…”

“I want things to be normal,” you tell Mama, you plead, tears stinging in your eyes. “I’ve tried so hard to get along with everyone, and help you as much as I can, but no matter what I do it’s not enough, and you’re always mad at me, and you’re always fighting with me—”

“You’re damn right I’m fighting with you, because you’re a spiteful, selfish child.”

“Hang up,” Rio is murmuring. “Hang up, hang up, hang up…”

“Mama,” you say, your voice strangled. “I’m sorry. I have to go now.”

“When I’m homeless, you know you got no one but yourself to blame—”

You hit the red button to end the call, throw your phone down onto the bed, stare at the wall and swallow noisily, choking back sobs. You won’t let yourself cry. You’ve cried enough for them already. You have to keep moving forward. The only way out is through. “You were right,” you say to Rio at last, quiet and raspy. Your hands are trembling. “I shouldn’t have called.”

“Hey.” He grabs your face roughly, forces you to look at him with your miserable shimmering eyes, grins hugely. “I’m your mom now, bitch.”

You laugh as tears spill down your cheeks, let him bury you in one of his smothering bear hugs, cling to him like a life raft in a storm.

[uberclonescript]

Coastal Comforts Discover the Perfect Homestay in ECR & Exciting Things To Do Nearby

ECR Is the Perfect Homestay

A Scenic Escape Awaits: Why ECR Is the Perfect Homestay Destination

The East Coast Road, popularly known as ECR, is more than just a beautiful stretch of highway along the Bay of Bengal. It’s a treasure trove of beaches, backwaters, food trails, cultural landmarks, and adventure activities. If you’re dreaming of a peaceful vacation with a dash of excitement, booking a homestay in ECR can be your gateway to all of this and more.

With Chennai just a short drive away, ECR has become a go-to weekend getaway spot for families, couples, solo travelers, and even digital nomads. And while there are plenty of resorts and hotels dotting the coastline, homestays offer something special—authenticity, privacy, and a cozy sense of home.

What Makes a Homestay in ECR Unique?

Homestays have redefined the way we travel. Unlike commercial hotels, they’re designed to give you an immersive experience in local culture and lifestyle. A homestay in ECR can be a beach-facing cottage, a luxurious villa with a pool, or a simple eco-retreat surrounded by palm trees.

Whether you're sipping chai on a sea-view balcony or enjoying home-cooked Tamil meals with your hosts, the experience feels deeply personal.

Benefits of Choosing a Homestay in ECR:

Local Hospitality: Warm, personal care from hosts who know the area inside-out.

Scenic Settings: Many homestays offer private beach access or lush green surroundings.

Affordable Luxury: You get top-tier comfort without breaking the bank.

Custom Experiences: Hosts often help you plan your itinerary, suggest secret spots, or even organize barbecues and bonfires.

Ideal for Remote Work: Many offer Wi-Fi and peaceful environments, making them ideal for workations.

Top-Rated Things to Do in ECR

One of the biggest perks of staying in a homestay along ECR is how close you are to countless attractions. Whether you're in the mood to relax, explore, or get your adrenaline pumping, there's something here for everyone.

1. Chill at Covelong Beach

Kick things off with a lazy morning at Covelong Beach. It’s less crowded than Marina, with gentle waves and a soothing vibe. Pack a picnic, bring your book, or just enjoy the sunrise.

2. Get Adventurous at Muttukadu

If you're feeling more energetic, head to Muttukadu for water sports. You can go boating, kayaking, or jet-skiing on the backwaters—one of the most thrilling activities in ECR for adventure lovers.

3. Uncover History at Mahabalipuram

Just a short drive from most ECR homestays, Mahabalipuram is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. The rock-cut temples, the Shore Temple, Arjuna’s Penance, and Krishna’s Butterball are architectural marvels that transport you to another era.

4. Spend Time at the Crocodile Bank

Traveling with kids? Don’t miss the Madras Crocodile Bank, a conservation center housing hundreds of crocs, snakes, and turtles. It’s educational, exciting, and makes for great photos.

5. Explore DakshinaChitra

Dive into South Indian culture at DakshinaChitra, a living museum showcasing traditional homes, crafts, and performances from Tamil Nadu, Kerala, Karnataka, and Andhra Pradesh. Perfect for a cultural day out.

6. Take a Food Tour

ECR is known for its food. From freshly caught seafood to authentic South Indian breakfasts, there's something for every palate. Try beachside shacks for grilled fish, or stop by small cafes and restaurants for local delicacies like dosas, appams, and filter coffee.

Must-Try Activities in ECR

Beyond the usual sightseeing, there are plenty of activities in ECR that can make your stay more memorable:

Surfing Lessons: Several surf schools around Covelong and Mahabalipuram offer lessons for beginners. It’s fun, safe, and a great workout.

Cycling Trails: Rent a bike and explore scenic village paths, temples, and coconut groves.

Night Drives: ECR is famous for night drives—peaceful, breezy, and dotted with moonlit views of the ocean.

Photography Walks: Sunrise and sunset offer some of the most photogenic moments along ECR, from beach views to ancient ruins.

Yoga & Wellness: Many homestays and retreats offer yoga sessions, ayurvedic massages, and detox plans.

Who Should Stay in an ECR Homestay?

One of the best things about ECR is its versatility. Whether you’re planning a romantic getaway or a solo soul-searching trip, you’ll find a homestay in ECR that fits perfectly.

For Couples: Opt for a beach-view homestay with a private patio and candlelight dining.

For Families: Choose spacious villas with kid-friendly amenities and garden space.

For Solo Travelers: Cozy homestays with hosts who treat you like family.

For Remote Workers: Peaceful, Wi-Fi-enabled homestays where you can work with a view of the ocean.

Planning Tips for Your ECR Homestay Trip

Here are a few quick tips to help you make the most of your stay:

Book Early: ECR gets busy during weekends and holidays—reserve your homestay in advance.

Check Location: Depending on whether you prefer quiet retreats or being close to action, choose a homestay that suits your vibe.

Ask About Amenities: Not all homestays offer the same facilities—check for Wi-Fi, air conditioning, kitchen access, and more.

Pack Light: You’ll be at the beach—light cotton clothes, flip-flops, sunscreen, and a camera are essentials.

Be Open to Local Culture: Engage with your hosts, try local food, and embrace the slower pace.

Final Thoughts: Homestay in ECR – Your Gateway to a Coastal Wonderland

A homestay in ECR is more than just a place to sleep—it’s the starting point of a soulful, scenic adventure. Whether you’re sipping on tender coconut water by the beach, exploring ancient temples, or jet skiing on the backwaters, every moment on ECR feels magical.

With endless things to do in ECR and exciting activities in ECR, your days can be as relaxing or as eventful as you choose. All you need is a cozy homestay and a sense of curiosity to unlock the treasures of Tamil Nadu’s stunning coastline.

[thedaveandkimmershow]

In the winter, sleeping in on our birthdays makes our birthdays seem objectively shorter. You leave the house around noon or after, you've got about four hours of birthday in there.

Not really, of course. It just feels like that since we lose the daylight a little after four in the afternoon.

A seriously short day.

Two days after the shortest day of the year, the winter solstice. 

So this year we get up when we normally get up for work, somewhere between 7 and 8 with teas, coffee, and a latte. Nine-ten we're out the door and into the theater with a tub 'o buttered popcorn by 930 for a bunch of trailers and, finally, "The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes".

We were the only ones there.

We are definitely watching that again.

Friend of ours isn't a fan. A bunch of people aren't fans of the movie. But we were hooked, engaged by the head-game vibe of the story. There are definitely questions littered about like landmines and we want at least another go at watching the movie for understanding.

It feels like there's more there there.

Twelve-thirty we're out of the theater and back to the house to pick up birthday brownies that'll come into play when we're down at Linzy's place. Linzy, by the way, is working her music teacher gig that'll end at two.

Two-twenty we drive up to her place, she arrives a coupla minutes after, grabs the birthday brownies from Kimmer, sets them in her apartment, jumps into the car, and we head off to Tapster for drinks.

It's never just drinks at Tapster, of course. It's an experience.

They've got swings for crying out loud. Which are the "seats" Kimmer 'n Linzy chose once they had their first round of drinks in hand.

By the way, I didn't want to drive into town. Didn't want to deal with parking that I presumed would be impossible. My idea, which remained just an idea, was to park at Northgate and light rail into town. Instead, we picked Linzy up at her place, drove down to that parking lot in front of the Wooden Boats place and BAM.

Found our parking spot first thing.

Three-thirty we hail a Lyft that drops us on the corner of 1st & Pine fifteen minutes later. We start walking down Pine and immediately start thinking this is the exact stretch of sidewalk Tom Hanks and Rob Reiner walked up (or down) in the movie, "Sleepless In Seattle".

Halfway down the block, we're sucked into Sur La Table, the kitchen store. Not sure how long we're in there but we look at a lot of kitchen accessories.

Then we're out the door, down to the corner, across the street passed the guy playing his mini piano on wheels on the opposite corner. Up the block some more and we catch the trail to Pike Place Market Creamery, our first intended stop at the Market.

Why?

'Cause none of us has been able to score eggnog at any of our usual grocery stores. And sure enough, the Creamery has some. In glass bottles, no less.

And definitely tasty.

Next stop's across the street, over by where they throw fish, down the stairs just to the right, down a flight, down a hall, down some stairs, backtrack a little on the next floor down to Golden Age Collectibles, the Sci-Fi store of my youth... the comic book store of our friend Susan's time working at the main branch of the Seattle Public Library.

Magnets, by the way. In a store packed with people browsing a multitude of collectibles, magnets are what caught our eyes and kept catching our eyes.

We couldn't get enough. They were hysterical.

We were there a bit, then after started thinking about dinner so we headed back to the stairs with the intention of walking down to the waterfront. As we're almost to the stairs, though, Kimmer spots a restaurant down an adjacent hall. Sound View Cafe. With, yes. A wonderful view of Eliott Bay, the Sound, and the sunset behind it.

And, of course, the tasty A1 burgers set before us on the table.

Quarter to Six we walk out of the Market, across the street, making our way to Westlake Mall for a more intense Christmastime vibe slash photo op.

Eventually, we make it to Nordstrom and their Ebar Artisan Coffee shop for our evening's hot beverages. Then we're up up up to and across the sky bridge to Pacific Place where we completely disapprove of the remodel. Linzy objects on the basis of the shops are waaaaaaay out of her price range. We object on the basis of it's not as charming as it used to be.

By 'n by, we make our way to the ground floor and pop back out onto Pine, walking toward the Macy's Star. Crossing 6th toward Nordstrom, we join a group of parents and kids watching the going's on inside Nordstrom's Santa Lane.

It really is worth a moment of your time watching Santa and his visitors through the glass. It's also worth a moment of your time watching people watch Santa and his visitors. Including some little people with their noses pressed right up to the glass.

It's addicting to watch the activity both inside and outside the Lane.

Six-thirty we catch a Lyft down the block and to the left. Drops us at our car at South Lake Union. Then we drive up the hill to Linzy's place where, once again, we get excessively lucky with parking. ☺️

Inside Linzy's place, birthday brownies are immediately put to good use, preceded by a touch of candle lighting and a round of "Happy Birthday".

Linzy was pretty full from dinner by that point so it was Kimmer 'n me partaking of the chocolate-y chewy goodness.

Linzy has a friend whose birthday's the same day as mine so she has another party to attend. With that in mind, we hit the road at 730 (hugs and good wishes all around) while she gets ready.

Now, my birthday's not yet over but we are transitioning to our Christmas plans. Therefore, our next stop's at Total Wine & More in Alderwood to build up our holiday stock. Interestingly, we don't seem to be much in need... and wind up walking away with just the one six-pack of Clausthaler Grapefruit Non-alcoholic Beer.

That's okay, though. It's festive!

Eight-thirty we're home packing and wrapping presents.

That's me, by the way. Kimmer, on the other hand, is writing inside the birthday card she crafted for me and also wrapping my birthday presents.

The presents, by the way, include a glass ornament in the shape of an old television set with color bars in the screen, a black t-shirt that reads "It's Not A Dad Bod... It's A Father Figure", and a much better thermos to replace my old one.

So.

My birthday came to a close around 930 that night with the opening of my birthday card and gifts.

Beyond that?

Getting ready for the impending Christmas.

🤩🤩🤩

[maniculum]

Bestiaryposting Results: Nirmosho

Today's is interesting in that it's notably vague about what kind of creature this is, other than "lives in the river" and "smaller than a crocodile". (Convenient that the crocodile was so recent, now that I think of it.)

It should also be noted that this is our very last entry on an individual animal -- as we're winding down, our final half-dozen Bestiaryposts are going to be collections of multiple entries, mostly ones that I felt were too short or too obvious to give their own post. Artists should feel free to pick & choose which to draw, or do a group shot, or however they like.

If you don't know what this is about, you can learn at https://maniculum.tumblr.com/bestiaryposting.

To see the entry the art is based on this week, click this link:

To see the entry for next week and potentially participate, click this one:

Now, let's see what people came up with.

@silverhart-makes-art (link to post here) has drawn this very charming little beastie that is not unlike a horseshoe crab, just less flat. I really like this overall, but I'd like to highlight the tiny little eyes, the detail on the mouthparts, and the nifty fin-thing on its back.

@coolest-capybara (link to post here) correctly observes that she's already drawn this one -- this is indeed the "certain kind of fish" mentioned in the Dolthruk entry, which she included in that illustration. However, in light of addition details, they have revised their design to create a fish that's capable of being mobile on land, basing it heavily on the mudskipper. Here we see an excellent image of two having a dispute in muddy water -- I particularly love the rendering of the fins and think the background works well here. (Also thank you for providing alt text.)

@cheapsweets (link to post here) has drawn this really nice fish inspired by various prehistoric species -- to me, it genuinely looks like this drawing would fit right into a series of illustrations in a paleontological text. To me, it's giving coelacanth, but that may be mostly because that's the only lobe-finned fish I recognize. I also like the little fang at the front. (And thank you for including alt text.)

@strixcattus (link to post here) has drawn this rather polite-looking snake, noting that the description provided lines up quite well with it being some sort of snake. As usual, the gold is in the naturalist-style description they've provided in the linked post -- in this case, I think it fits right in with any given article about unusual animal life cycles & behaviors. Weird, but not implausibly weird.

@wendievergreen (link to post here) is depicting, in their usual aesthetically pleasing stylized form, an insect life cycle. I like the idea of it being an insect, which does fit the description, I like the thought put into this crocodile-centric life cycle, and again I really like the vibe of the artwork here. See the linked post for more detail on the life cycle being depicted, and close-ups of the individual details of this drawing.

Now to see what the Aberdeen Bestiary has to say:

... yeah, that is neither a crocodile nor a fish.

The beast being killed here looks more like a medieval hyena than anything -- people who have read these posts from the beginning may find that spiny back familiar. And the creature killing it, which this entry is ostensibly describing, is dead-on identical to the standard-issue Medieval Wyvern Thing that you see in a lot of different manuscripts.

Anyway, as I'm certain nobody guessed from that illustration, we're going out with a bang on the world-famous... Ydrus.

If you've never heard of it, you're not alone. It isn't real, and is one of those imaginary beasts that never quite caught on. As far as I know, it pretty much only shows up in bestiaries -- occasionally it gets confused with the Hydra, but I don't think they were originally intended to be the same, similar names aside.

And now you know.

seriously i don't think the illustrator was making a lot of effort to fit the description

[pomrania]

Nobody asked, but I'm doing it anyways; time for more DESIGN DECISIONS.

The "wings" were the easy bit of this, because it's not like they're a "human" feature to begin with. Aside from basic "make this less annoying for me to have to draw" adjustments, I made the feathers into something more like fin spines, and the cloak into more like flappy fins, for theming (also because I am just SO bad at drawing folds in clothing, like seriously how does this happen, you'd think I would have passively picked up something by now with a) drawing semi-regularly for years and b) being sighted in a culture that mandates wearing clothes while in public, but you'd be wrong).

I gave her an overall vibe that's vaguely snake- or eel-like, because her original design had a literal tail, AND her hair was done in a long thick braid that resulted in a similar shape; plus "body ends in a tapering tail" is easier to pose than "body ends in a tail with a caudal fin". The head-tail doesn't fit my normal merm design philosophy, but euh, it's not like base-her was human anyways, and it looked cool. For the tail-tail, I gave it some yellow spikes or fins to invoke the yellow ribbon her original design has tied around it.

As always, I use fins to try and get a similar outline when there's loose or baggy clothing. The frilly side-fins were to match the shape of the folds on her skirt.

You'll notice that this doesn't include anything like her original skin tone. That is intentional. I'm drawing merms, not humans with fish tails; and it's easier to not get "lazy" when it comes to colour distribution, if the "skin" colour isn't there to begin with. Also, you might have noticed by now -- just in this series, if not from my overall art -- but I like to work in a limited palette, and make sure that every individual shade is used in multiple locations, to "balance" the image. It makes things look more cohesive, and reduces the amount of hue-wrangling I have to do. And in her original design, there's four main colours -- black, white, blue, and yellow -- plus the "default canvas" (which I don't want to include) of her skin tone, the peach of her eyes, and the light blue and green of the wings' halos; those colours are only each used in one place and couldn't be easily merged with something else, so I dropped them. (I used yellow for her eye colour in the full piece, as that's "close enough" to peach.)

Day twelve of Mermay 2025, where I'm turning Guilty Gear into Gill-ty Gear. Today I redrew and mermified Dizzy's profile art, according to the merm redesign I did earlier.

My progress thread for this piece can be found here.

[mypoisonedvine]

𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗽𝘆 𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲 𝗽𝗶𝗹𝗹 || dark!alex kerner x reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 ◦ alex has been waiting so long for you to figure out he's the guy you should be with, but you just see him as your best friend. he's tired of being a virgin, and he's tired of hoping that someday you'll wake up and realise you're meant to be together— if he can't wake you up, at least he can put you to sleep.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 ◦ 6.7k

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ◦ smut (noncon, somnophilia, creampie), drugging, obsession, "nice guy"/incel vibes, a bit of possessiveness, very slight degradation, male virginity loss, overall just alex being super unsettling and awful lmao

“I’m gonna run to the washroom, watch my drink?” you requested casually. Alex nodded quickly, heart starting to beat a bit faster as he watched you weave your way through the crowded bar, leaning back a bit to make sure you were out of sight for good.

He took a few glances back and forth at the people around to make sure no eyes were on him, leaning in closer to the bar to try to conceal what he was doing— reaching into his inner jacket pocket and fishing for what he’d bought just a few days ago, waiting for this moment. He was absolutely terrified that someone would catch him— that you would catch him— but he was willing to risk it in exchange for such an incredible reward.

After struggling for a second due to his hands shaking slightly, he found the plastic baggie and discreetly slipped it out, not even looking at it as he opened it close to his chest; he figured if he stared straight ahead it would be less suspicious.

He managed to get the bag open and lean forward just enough to dump the contents into your drink as it rested on the bar, looking around absent-mindedly to remain nonchalant— except that when he leaned back to see if the powder had dissolved easily, he found that he’d missed the glass entirely and dumped the light blue substance right onto the bar.

“Scheiße!” he frantically cursed under his breath as he whipped his head around to make sure no one had seen, trying to decide how to recover from this. Thinking quickly, he grabbed the glass and held it up to the edge of the bar, brushing the powder with his hand across the smooth surface and right over the slope into your drink; it hit the alcohol and started to dissolve quickly as he used his finger to push in the excess on the wooden bar before brushing the rest away with his jacket sleeve. He held the glass up to his face to look at the liquid closely, still seeing some remnants of the powder and trying to swirl the drink a bit to encourage it to fade away: if you saw something by the time you got back, he’d have to start all over again.

“When I said ‘watch my drink,’ I didn’t mean it that literally,” you giggled, and he jumped, not having realized you had returned. Considering your casual attitude and your hands eagerly reaching for the glass, you must not have seen anything leading up to this moment— and thank heavens for that.

He watched a little too intently as you took the drink from his hand and took a sip, waiting to see if you had any reaction, but you set it down without saying anything. “Thanks,” you broke the silence after swallowing, “god knows this place is probably full of creeps.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” he agreed awkwardly. There was one benefit to being so deep in the friendzone: you trusted him. Right now, that and some pharmaceutical support were all he had going for him.

He wrung his hands nervously as he hoped that the second would come through for him. The guy he bought this stuff from said it was guaranteed to work, but Alex didn’t necessarily trust the word of a drug dealer selling daterape drugs. Not that he thought the label of “daterape” was very fair— if he could get you on a date, he wouldn’t have to do stuff like this in the first place! But after years of being your best friend, your partner in crime, your confidante, and the constant shoulder to cry on while a carousel of abusive assholes treated you like shit and kicked you to the curb, you still didn’t get the fucking picture. So no, this wasn’t a date; it was just two friends getting drinks, and one friend finally getting what he deserved from the other.

He took a swig of his own drink to try to calm his nerves; nursing the neck of a bottle of beer made him realize he got lucky that you ordered something served in a glass, since getting powder down a bottle would’ve been a pain.

Quickly the conversation returned to the mundane: your latest break-up, his week at work, your favorite bands, his favorite movies. He really did enjoy being your friend, all things considered, he just needed more. And as the night continued without much sign of the pill kicking in— even as you finished your drink— he worried he wouldn't get it.

But then, finally, he noticed the subtle signs: you were blinking a bit more often, and for longer. You seemed to be breathing a bit slower, staring off into space. "Hey, you with me?" he prompted, waving his hand in front of your face to get your attention. "Sorry, my story was boring—"

"No, it's not that, I'm sorry," you shook your head.

"Then what's up?" he asked, adding faux concern to his tone.

“I just…" you sighed and started over again. "Let’s head out soon, I’m getting ready to turn in,” you decided.

“It’s only ten!” Alex pointed out with a laugh.

“Fuck, really? I thought it was later,” you frowned.

“Who knew you were such a lightweight?” he teased, pushing you on the shoulder and getting a playful shove back— but he could feel that you were a little weak, and he saw you almost falter in your balance. “Hey, you don’t look so good, let’s go outside for some fresh air.”

You nodded and took his hand, letting him guide you through the crowd and out the back door.

The overwhelming noise that had been present inside was muffled in the damp alleyway, just the distant roar of a thousand conversations and the heavy bass of the music left now. He watched you take a deep breath, closing your eyes. "You good?" he prompted.

"Yeah," you decided, but your voice sounded a little heavy. "Let's walk to the train station…"

He nodded and walked beside you, but you hardly made it a few steps before losing your balance. “Woah!” he laughed as you stumbled, thankfully catching you just in time, and tried not to get too caught up in how amazing it felt to hold you in his arms. “I think you’ve had a little too much to drink…”

“Alex,” you mumbled as you started to go limp, clearly fighting to keep your eyes open (and losing).

“I’m gonna take you home, okay?” he offered as you started to fade out.

He kept that promise; he just took you to his home instead of your own.

It was a bit of a struggle to drag an unconscious body back to his apartment without arousing suspicion, but thankfully it was only a couple blocks and with his your arm slung over his shoulders it was pretty easy for any passersby (of which there were very few at this hour) to assume it was just a chivalrous boyfriend helping his date after one too many drinks.

The hardest part was actually getting his keys and unlocking his door without dropping you. Once you were both inside, though, he grunted slightly as he slung you over his shoulder and carried you to the bedroom, laying you down on the bed and looking down at you as he caught his breath.

He was embarrassingly eager; he was already rock hard just from seeing you like this, laying on his bed. It’s not that he got off on you being passed out, but from the feeling that he could do whatever he wanted to you— and the knowledge that he was going to.

Finally, after all this time of being just your friend, he would get what he’d been dreaming of from the beginning.

He was slow and patient, for once, as he sat down beside you on the bed, trailing his fingers over your face, brushing your hair out of the way tenderly. You looked so beautiful this way, peaceful in a way he was almost jealous of; he closed his eyes as he leaned down and kissed you softly, moving his lips even though yours were slack and still.

Past the taste of alcohol, there was something distinctly unique to you, and he took in a deep breath as he sought more of it, adjusting himself until he was on top of you... just having you beneath him was such a rush.

He licked over your lips, even nibbled on them before holding your jaw so he could open your mouth wider and taste inside of it. “Baby,” he whispered to you, heart swelling at the chance to finally call you something that friends don’t call each other— only lovers. “Baby,” he said again, mumbled into the kiss, “you’re so beautiful…”

He precariously balanced on one arm while using the other to feel all over your body through your clothes— and even under them, for a moment, as his hand awkwardly snaked up your shirt and squeezed your tits through your bra.

Suddenly he pulled back with a new desperation, sitting up and breaking the kiss as he started to undress you. “Let’s get you out of these clothes,” he cooed at you quietly, starting to lift your shirt to expose a bit of your hips and stomach.

It was pretty difficult to push your shirt up, since your weight was holding the back of it down, and so he had to awkwardly lift your limp upper body to finally pull the fabric aside before he laid you back down and carefully— gently, with reverence— exposed your bra which itself he pulled down with much less care.

“Oh, god,” he groaned as he got an eyeful, and then a handful, of your tits. “Fuck, wanted to touch you for so long…”

You were so warm, in fact you were hot to the touch, and he hoped his hands weren’t too cold for you… but then again, you couldn’t feel any of it, could you? Did you even care?

For cold hands or not, your nipples started to get harder and he smiled to himself. “You’re sensitive here, just like I imagined. I’m gonna suck on them,” he promised as he started to lean down, pushing them together a bit to make them easier to reach. With a hum he wrapped his lips around one bud and closed his eyes, swirling his tongue and moaning at the taste of your skin. Already his hips were rocking forward into the air just a bit, his cock throbbing and eager to be inside you. But he couldn’t stop doing this to deal with that, couldn’t stop suckling on your perfect tits, going back and forth and massaging them both as he let his tongue explore you.

“God, you’re so fucking perfect,” he groaned against your skin, “you’ve got such perfect tits… you like being sucked here, don’t you? I bet your pussy’s getting so wet.”

As his cock flexed in his pants again, he found the strength to let go so he could move on to better things.

“Let’s find out,” he decided as he sat up and moved down your body to start opening your jeans.

If he thought your shirt was awkward to remove, your jeans were a whole other story; he had to fiddle with the button and fly for quite a while since his hands were starting to shake from the adrenaline rush of it all, and then it took several hard yanks to get the tight denim down your legs. He considered just getting them down enough to do his business and be on with it, but decided it would be better to see all of you— and so he stood up off the bed for a moment, though it felt a bit awkward physically with his cock doing its best try to bust right out of his trousers, and pulled the jeans off over your feet which he also relieved of their socks.

“Aw, you even have pretty feet,” he cooed as he cradled one in his hand briefly before climbing back up over you— after all he’d seen them before when you wore sandals and while he’d always found it a bit titillating when you wore them with your toenails painted in bright colours, they were absolutely nowhere near the main event tonight.

His hands ran over your legs, admiring the smoothness of your skin as he carefully held and lifted each one, moving them out further to spread your legs. Again, they were heavier than he expected as dead weight, and the softness of the bed meant that they sort of rolled back a bit so he had to move them more than he expected at first, but it was worth it to have you spread out beneath him like this with only your panties and rolled up shirt to cover you.

“I can just… pull these aside…” he mumbled as he hooked a finger into the fabric of your panties, revealing your cunt— and god, just the sight of it nearly pushed him over the edge right then and there. What a waste it would’ve been to come this far and just end up coming in his pants at the sight of you, so it was a good thing he held it off just barely. “Mein Gott, you have such a beautiful pussy,” he sighed. “It smells good… I wanna taste it. I’ve never tasted a pussy before…”

Carefully, he leaned in and gave an experimental lick to your folds, moaning softly at the taste. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting but he liked it more than he thought he would, going in again to get a more thorough taste. That said, as soon as he started to push his tongue into you, he knew he needed to feel inside you with something much more capable of appreciating every detail of you. He breathed heavily as he quickly brought his fingers up to your entrance, pushing in one but adding a second right away once he felt the warm perfection of your channel. This he’d done before— fingering, that is— and it had been rather lackluster so he hadn’t realised how much he would enjoy it when it was you; you were so much warmer, and wetter, and tighter… his fingers curled slightly to press against your walls, his attempt to feel every detail of your body, and he moaned as he sucked on your clit while he pumped his fingers.

One more flex of his cock against the confines of his trousers made one thing very clear: now, or never.

“Fuck,” he groaned beneath his breath as he sat up quickly, pulling his fingers out of you to use two hands to fumble over his belt and jeans, “need to be inside you— m’gonna fuck you baby, you want it? Yeah, you wanna be fucked, don’t you?”

You were, of course, still and silent… but your pussy was wet, you obviously wanted him.

He shouldn’t have rushed it quite so much but the moment he pulled his cock out, he found himself leaning forward and hovering over you again, swiping the head through your folds to coat himself in your wetness. As soon as he felt your entrance, he pushed all the way inside.

“Fuck!” he moaned loudly at the overwhelming feeling of you— so hot he thought he might burn up and he wouldn’t even mind it— already bucking his hips as he thrusted quickly. Lost in the feeling, he threw his head back for a moment and blindly searched with his hand until he found a breast to grab onto. “Oh my god, you feel so good, baby…”

He didn’t have much freedom to move his legs since he’d only pushed his pants down just enough to get inside you, but he found a way to make it work anyways, just from pure desperation. After a moment, he looked down at your sleeping face, tossing around slightly as his thrusts rocked your unconscious body, and you looked so angelic that he just had to lean down to kiss you again. So he did, and he did so hungrily, passionately, moans echoing into your mouth, as he already felt himself getting closer and closer to the edge.

“Taking me so good,” he praised roughly, “feels like you were made for me… you’re fucking tight, too, how am I supposed to pull out when you’re this tight? Oh fuck, I have to come inside you— I can’t pull out, you feel too good, and you’re not awake to yell at me anyways…”

Truth be told, he had no plan for when you woke up tomorrow, sore and leaking his come. He’d never thought that far ahead, not even when he was buying the sedative for your drink. All he could think about was this moment, this exact place that he knew he was meant to be: inside you.

“Gonna fill you with it,” he promised with a grunt as he kissed his way across your cheek to the crook of your neck where he buried his face as he thrusted faster. “O-oh god, I’m close, I’m so fucking close, just— just like that, baby— fuck!”

He may have caught a little glimpse of heaven as he came inside you, each pulse of his orgasm running straight down to the base of his cock and making his balls tighten so hard that it would’ve probably been painful were it not for the euphoria superseding everything. He gave you a few more weak thrusts, not pulling out very far since he couldn’t manage being anything but buried completely inside you, before the waves subsided and he collapsed on top of you.

“You’re so amazing, baby, Mein Gott,” he breathed as he kissed all over your face, “look how fast you made me come, you’re fucking perfect.”

He let himself rest for a little while, content to just stay inside you for as long as he could stand it, before sitting back up again and very carefully pulling himself out of you.

That first one only took the edge off; now that he was thinking somewhat clearly again, he could take the time to do this right— he carefully pulled your panties down your legs, tossing them aside along with your shirt and bra once he’d figured out how to get them off somehow.

He really savored you this time: kissed you all over, talked softly to you about everything he couldn’t wait to do to your pliant body, ran his hands over anywhere he could reach. He even played with your clit, watching the way it made your walls flex which pushed a bit of his come out every time. “I love the way your pussy looks, baby, it’s so fucking sexy,” he grinned. “And you know what? I think it looks even better with my come leaking out of it. You want more? I can give you more, baby, I have so much left to give— I’m gonna use you until my balls are empty and all my come is inside you. We’ve got all night, after all.”

He stripped himself as well, wanting to feel your skin against his this time, and stroked himself for a moment as he stared down at your body, laying there at his disposal. He couldn’t even count how many times he had jerked off imagining being with you, and now his dreams were coming true, if maybe not exactly the way he would’ve predicted.

On his knees between your spread legs, he lifted your hips up and propped you up just how he wanted you before pushing inside, groaning instantly not only from your warmth but also because of the way his own come eased his path and left you dripping wet. “Oh fuck,” he breathed, placing one hand beside your head so he could hover over you while the other squeezed your hips tightly.

But now that he’d already come before, he had some real stamina to work with and that gave him time to move you into a new position— just for fun, he turned you onto your stomach and fucked you from behind for a while. He was definitely a breast man all things considered, but he was absolutely not one to let a great ass go to waste; he loved watching yours ripple each time he slammed into you, pushing your back down to force it to arch a bit.

“You probably like taking it from behind, don’t you? Is this how you liked to get fucked?” he taunted with a groan. “Yeah, I think you like it— I think you’re a bit of a slut, hm?”

He took your absence of response as a yes, squeezing handfuls of your ass before spanking you a few times for good measure.

After that, he pushed your legs up to your shoulders, groaning in awe of such a lovely view of your pussy and face at the same time. This time when he pushed his cock into you, he felt himself hit the very end of your body— he moaned as he realized his cock was using all of you, really claiming you as his own. He needed to come this deep in you, he needed it like he had never needed anything before.

Soon enough it ended up with your legs draped over his shoulders and his hands roughly grabbing at your tits, and that transitioned naturally into him slipping his arms under your back and holding you tight as he fucked you fast, rough, needy— animalistic, near the end.

He let his mind run wild with some insane idea of what it might be like if you were awake: in his fantasy you were begging him for more, moaning about how he was the best you ever had, digging your nails into his back as he brought you to ecstasy with only his cock. You seemed like the type to cry with joy when you came really hard, at least that’s what he’d imagined before, and so he thought he might kiss your tears away while he spoke his little praises to you, hearing your sounds of pleasure right against his ear.

Suddenly he pressed his lips to yours again, almost wishing you could kiss him back properly but appreciating that this was the best he could do for now— and it still did plenty for him, making his cock start to flex inside you as his second orgasm drew closer.

“You’ll make me come, baby— you’re so good, I’m gonna come in you again,” he whispered against your lips. “Oh, Liebling, you’re going to be so full of my come, do you think you can take it all? Can you take everything, baby?”

It was different from the first one: in some ways more intense, kind of building on the last, and in some ways more subdued as he knew a bit more of what to expect by now. But it was no less incredible, and he moaned loudly into his unrequited kiss as he filled you once again.

Once the most intense pangs of sensation had faded, once the ringing in his ears had stopped, and once he’d (mostly) caught his breath, he sat up slowly and looked down at where your bodies were joined. It had, understandably, made a bit of a mess to come inside you twice in a row— he hopped up from the beg on slightly-wobbly legs to retrieve a damp cloth, cleaning his cock first before giving your pussy at least a cursory, exterior wipe down like any gentleman would.

He knew there was no real point in getting you fully cleaned up since he’d be back to use you again soon enough. But that was a ways out from now since he definitely needed a while to recover.

With a parting kiss to your forehead and a brief search for his boxers, Alex left the bedroom to forage the kitchen for something to restore some energy. He settled on a coffee (there was still plenty of night left that he would definitely prefer to be awake for), an apple, and some orange-chocolate biscuits, which he enjoyed while he turned on the TV and watched whatever was left before the end of broadcast.

Of course, with nothing interesting to watch, he found himself not really paying much attention as his mind wandered to other things. Most of all, for the first time he considered his plan for after the pill wore off and you had questions. The most thorough solution would be to give you a bath to get his fingerprints off of your skin and his come out of you, then to redress you in your clothes from the bar and simply say that you passed out and he gave you the bed while he slept on the couch.

Another option, though more dangerous, might be a bit more fun: he could leave at least some of his come inside you before he redressed you, just to know he’d left a bit of himself behind.

And, of course, there was always his last resort, perhaps the most obvious but highest risk solution. He could admit that something had happened, but try to convince you that it was of your doing, a drunken initiation that you simply couldn’t remember. But even then, it would all depend on what you remembered of the moments at the bar before blacking out; and considering the thorough beating your pussy had been receiving so far tonight and would continue to be receiving, the odds were probably pretty low that he could convince your hungover self in the morning that nothing had happened. Not that Alex would know, but he had a pretty good feeling that a sore vagina is not a common side effect of a hangover for women.

His cock started to stir as he imagined the absolute best case scenario when you woke up in the morning.

Alex, what happened last night? Did we have sex?

Yes, baby, and it was amazing, I just wish you could remember it.

Oh, Alex, I’ve been waiting so long for you to just man up and take me— you’re all I ever wanted.

I know, baby, but I’m sorry I had to go about it that way, giving you that pill in your drink. I just had to be sure you wouldn’t say no to me, I couldn’t take it if you did.

I’d never say no to you, Alex, and I never, ever will. I wouldn’t even know how, not after last night— I know that we’re meant to be together now. You shouldn’t apologize for drugging me either, I should be thanking you. We can finally be together, I can finally be all yours… come here and make love to me again, I promise I’m going to remember it this time— I’ll remember it for the rest of my life.

And to make up for such a one-sided night of passion before, he decided that this time you’d be loud and proud, even bordering on dominant by riding him with reckless abandon— bouncing happily on his cock and bringing yourself pleasure like you’ve never known before. But, of course, you’d both be well aware who was really in charge, who you really belonged to.

Alex, I’m yours— my body is yours, my heart is yours, everything, it’s all yours… I swear, nobody’s ever made me feel like you do, you can have me whenever you want me— use me, Alex, I love you, I love you!

Fuck, he was hard again. Way harder than he had any right to be considering how he’d spent the night so far. He could even just barely see a little stain of precum on his boxers by the tip of his cock, hard to make out with only the dim, blue-ish glow of the TV to see by.

But thankfully, while you were here, no boner would go to waste— he stood up and stretched away the soreness that had settled in from sitting on the couch for a while, before walking to his bedroom and cracking the door open. You were laying there, exactly as he’d left you, and even though it was no surprise at all he still smiled to himself proudly.

“Hey baby,” he grinned as he slipped off his boxers and hopped onto the bed beside your motionless body, “you’ve been waiting for me, huh?”

He ran his fingers down your stomach, over your thighs, then came back up to start to touch your pussy. He still couldn’t believe how soft and silky it was, you were just too good to be true— and here you were, spread out on his bed for him to use as much as he liked, his best friend turned into his own personal sex doll.

The only shame was that the drug would wear off eventually, and he couldn’t just use you this way forever. It was only one night, at least until he found a way to do it again, and he needed to make the most of it.

So, not looking to waste any more time, he climbed up on top of you and rubbed his cock over your pussy— wet and spread out on display for him, though even wetter after he took a moment to pull back and spit on it— while his mouth laved at your hardening nipples. Honestly, he could probably come just from this, just from rubbing himself on you and sucking on your tits, but why do that when he could fuck you again?

He held your legs apart for himself as he pushed inside, purring as he felt your swollen channel struggle slightly to accommodate him. “Aw, it’s not too big for you, is it baby?” he taunted you with a smirk. “You can take it all, right? Yeah you can, that’s my good girl…”

He fucked you a little faster right away, focusing his hands and mouth on your breasts for a while and wondering if he might find the self-discipline to pull out and come on your tits this time. Probably not, but it was fun to imagine. He always thought your tits just deserved to be covered in his come, though, ever since you wore that one dress that showed them off just a little too much and it made him too horny to even really be jealous that you were putting yourself on display like that.

You dressed a little too provocatively, all things considered; he never got his head around on how all these controlling douchebag boyfriends of yours let you leave the house like that. If you were his girlfriend, he’d treat you loads better than any of them did, but one thing he’d be sure of is to dress you up in baggy sweatshirts as much as he could get away with. No more of those tops with the straps as thin as a noodle and the jeans so tight that every guy who walked by was obviously staring at you. A body as lovely as yours would need to stay Alex’s-eyes-only, if you two were ever going to end up together. But obviously, tonight proved that Alex was more confident than ever that that could never really happen. It was nice to play pretend for the night, though.

“You’re taking it so good, baby, look at you,” he groaned as he sat up a bit to get a glimpse of your cunt stretched wide around his cock. “Can you believe it fits? I can, I know you were made to take it— ‘cause you’re my girl, huh? All mine…”

For all intents and purposes, he was talking to himself; but as stupid as it was, it worked.

“Yeah, you’re all mine,” he continued, fucking you faster, “this pussy belongs to me, all my come inside it makes that pretty fucking clear, don’t you think? Such a beautiful little pussy and it’s all mine.”

Overcome by it all, he leaned down to rest his head beside yours while he fucked you, feeling a thin layer of sweat gather around most of his body from the exertion of fucking you as hard as he was.

“You’re never gonna let anybody else touch you,” he demanded against your shoulder, “‘cause you’re mine, baby, and nobody else is ever gonna fuck you… just me, you’re gonna be mine, Liebling.”

He heard you let out a little sigh and at first it was the hottest thing he’d ever experienced— the closest he’d ever gotten to hearing you moan for him— but then he pulled back and saw your eyes blinking open and staring straight up at him…

And suddenly it was the most terrifying thing he’d ever experienced.

A rush of adrenaline— much less enjoyable than before— shot through him and left him petrified as he stared back at you.

“...A-Alex?” you croaked out weakly. “What’s happening?”

Even in his state of terror, he was moving on pure instinct: and his instinct was to keep fucking you. He couldn’t stop, not even staring you down like this, not even moments away from facing the very terrible consequences of his very terrible actions. “You’re dreaming,” he blurted out suddenly, suppressing a moan as he felt you squirm a bit beneath him— it made you even tighter when you struggled. “This is just a dream…”

You reached up, a pathetically weak attempt to push him away, and he quickly pinned your arms down beside your head.

“You’re just dreaming, baby,” he repeated in a groan, “a really, really amazing dream.”

You whimpered a bit but didn’t say anything else, eyes falling shut again; he carefully leaned down to press his face into your neck, kissing along your pulse and up to your ear.

“You’ve dreamed about this before, haven’t you?” he whispered to you softly. “You’ve dreamed about how good it would be if you let your best friend fuck you. And it feels good, doesn’t it? I dreamed about this too. For as long as I knew you.”

When he looked up at your eyes again, they were still shut, and your breathing started to slow down again. He couldn’t say for sure that you were asleep quite in the same way you had been before, but you weren’t awake the way you’d been before, either.

The safest option, of course, would be to stop now— but he was too close to coming a third time and he just couldn’t bring himself to stop moving when the slick friction was just so fucking good.

He tried not to be too rough so he wouldn’t jostle you awake, and even just that took all that was left of his willpower; it wasn’t all too much later that he came inside you one last time, whispering to you about how this might be the last time, but that he hopes you enjoyed your strange little dream about making love with your best friend.

Truth be told, he didn’t mean to fall asleep in the manner that he did— that being on top of you— but the coffee did little to keep him up compared to the sedative of three orgasms and your perfect pussy keeping him warm all night…

By the time he woke up, though, you two had migrated apart slightly, though you were still tangled up in his arms with your head on his chest.

Smiling down at you, he let himself run his fingers lightly over your back, over your arm draped on his chest, before he felt you start to stir with the sunlight in the window shining on your face.

You hummed a little, starting to move, but he thought he might’ve caught the moment you realised you were laying next to someone— and you looked up at him with those pretty eyes all confused. “Alex?” you groaned.

“Morning,” he greeted, trying to mimic the hungover exhaustion that tinted your voice.

“Oh Christ are we—” you choked, glancing down at his bare chest. “I think we’re naked.”

“That… seems to be the case, yes,” he agreed awkwardly.

“Did we…?” you prompted, looking up at him in a way that made it painfully ambiguous what answer you might prefer.

“I don’t know, we were both pretty wasted,” he offered, banking on you not remembering him being much more composed than you when you passed out. “What do you remember last?”

“Um, the bar…” you trailed off. “And we were walking outside…”

“Yeah, that’s kind of where my memory cuts off, too,” he bluffed with a nervous chuckle.

He saw your eyes get wide for a second before they darted away, and he raised an eyebrow. “Oh… oh shit,” you choked as you sat up suddenly, trying to cover yourself as you searched near the bed for your discarded clothes.

“What? What’s going on?” he asked quickly.

“I, uh, remember one other thing,” you explained pointedly, finally finding your panties and slipping them back on under the covers.

“Well, what is it?” he asked, but you ignored him as you searched for your bra. “Hey,” he barked, grabbing your shoulder as he sat up, and finally you faced him again, “what do you remember?”

“Well,” you sighed, “I, uh… I think I can say with complete confidence that we fucked last night.”

“Wait, what? Are you sure?” he pressed, sitting up a little straighter.

“I… remember,” you explained, “just a little bit.”

He just prayed that you didn’t remember that little bit where he drugged you. “Well, what happened?”

“I don’t know, okay? I just remember you on top of me and—”

“And?”

You swallowed thickly, and he had to hide a smirk when he realized what the rest of your sentence was. And it felt good.

“I should go…” you mumbled awkwardly, and he reached out to grab your arm.

“Wait, please,” he begged, and you looked back at him with watery eyes. “Look, I’m not sure what happened last night, but maybe it wasn’t a mistake— I mean, how can we be sure if we don’t give it a shot?”

You tilted your mouth a bit as you considered it.

“I mean, they say alcohol takes away your inhibitions, not that it gives you new ideas, right?” he added. “So we both got way too drunk and… if this is where we ended up, then maybe this is what we both really wanted all along.”

He scooted a bit closer to you on the bed, wrapping his arms around you. You sighed as you leaned into his chest, relaxing a bit. “I just don’t want to lose this,” you breathed. “You know: this.”

“Of course,” he agreed, “we’re always gonna be best friends, nothing can change that.”

He leaned in to kiss your temple… then your cheek… then just below your ear...

“Alex,” you breathed as he slowly laid you down and pressed you back into the mattress, but you jumped a little bit when he pressed his cock against your thigh. “Alex!”

“C’mon, baby, let’s remember together,” he encouraged with kisses all over your neck, grinning as your back arched.

“But… but we’re just friends,” you protested.

“Not anymore,” he purred. “I don’t remember much, but I remember you begging me for more. You loved my cock way too much for us to just be friends now, Liebling.”

For all the conflict on your face, your legs spreading open for him was pretty unambiguous. Your mind might have missed the memo, but your body was already used to him. With you conscious he could make you come around him, he could hear you moan his name, he could make you beg him to come inside you… the possibilities were really endless.

He should’ve known he’d never have the self-control to let it just be one night; he was a goner from the beginning, he’d do anything to have you— lie, steal, kill, spike your drink— and he wasn’t going to let you get away so easily, not when you were finally right here in his arms.

“You’re gonna be mine, baby,” he whispered in your ear as he slowly pushed his cock inside you once again, “all mine.”